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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/271/3424/AHenwoodP171125.1.mp3
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Title
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Henwood, Priscilla
Priscilla Henwood
P Henwood
Description
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One oral history interview with Priscilla Henwood (b. 1921, 21397/2618 Royal Air Force).
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2017-11-25
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Henwood, P
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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MC: Right. This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Margaret Carr. The interviewee is Priscilla Henwood. The interview is taking place at Priscilla’s home in Helderberg Village, Somerset West, South Africa on Saturday the 25th of November 2017. Priscilla, thank you so much for seeing me today. I really appreciate it. Would you like to tell me just a little bit maybe about your early life, where you went to school and your family.
PH: Thank you, Margaret. Thank you very much for taking time on your two day visit to come and visit me. I feel very very honoured. Truly honoured. And it’s lovely to meet you and your family. My early life. Well, my early life. My brother and I were twins. Our parents lived in, were stationed. Well, my father was stationed in the Royal Air Force, or Royal Flying Corps in Palestine in the 1916/17 I suppose. And then my mother was stationed in Salonika in Greece — working with the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service Reserve. And they all wore grey and scarlet and they were very, very elite nursing sisters. Anyway, she was there until the end of the war and then she went. She somehow managed to go from Salonika to Palestine to meet my father whom she’d known before in her early life in — down in the New Forest. And so they were married in 1919 in Cairo. In the riots. Always riots in Cairo. And I see today two hundred, six hundred people have been killed in Cairo. This is today. Saturday. In November 2017. It’s a tragic country. Anyway, they were married there and went back. Eventually they went back to England. And my brother and I were born at Farnborough. One of the first RAF stations in, in Hampshire. Royal Flying Corps. We were born in October 1921. And my father was stationed near. Then, it all changed then and people were re-routed and reconnected. He left the air force and eventually we lived in London. All sorts of post war problems that we recognise today. They were the same problems back in 1920s and ‘21s. In fact they call the 1918 to 1939 “The Long Armistice.” And so anyway there we were living in Sussex for a while and then my brother and I grew up in London. In Maida Vale and St John’s Wood. And we had a happy time visiting, with going to museums. The Science Museum or the, always Westminster Abbey, the unknown warrior. And so we, we went and we grew up there. I went to school in Maida Vale and then to secretarial College. My brother went to school at Monmouth. And then just before the war in about 1938 I had a great friend whose father was in the War Office and he recognised this war was coming. He recognised that women were going to be recruited in to munitions or farmer’s labourers and all sorts of things. So he arranged for my friend Joan Morgan and myself to join the 600, City of London Squadron. That was a fighter squadron in London obviously. And they wore, they wore red and scarlet cloaks. Or their cloaks were lined with scarlet. They were an elite but they were stationed at Hendon. And this is a bit, this is an interesting part. We used to, I used to go about once a week. I never actually went down to Hendon but they had meetings in the HAC headquarters and at Finsbury Barracks in London. And the idea was that we were to be as a group. We weren’t really the WAAF yet. We were going to be the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force and we were going to do exactly what everybody had done in the first war. We would go with the squadron, 600 City of London Squadron. We would go and be typists or telephonists or cooks or drivers, or whatever. Medical assistants. And so then we went to various lectures. Very interesting people from the first war. And learning about how it would be in trenches and stations in Europe when we were conquering Europe. But it was not to be. The training went on. My brother was in the Royal Fusiliers in that time. So we were pretty well prepared for the war when it came. In fact, I was called up before the war. And we went. We were then based at Finsbury Barracks in London and did recruiting. The great thing was we used to recruit young women for the air force and then they’d say, ‘Yes I want to be, I want to be in the air force. I want to be in the secret service. That’s what I want to be.’ So we said, ‘Well that would be nice.’ I said, well we must have, one of the first things we had to do is to go for a medical. And there at Finsbury Barracks we used to take, one of those places to be — ‘No. I can’t go for a medical today. I was out at a party at the nightclub all last night. So can I come back and have a medical later?’ [laughs] In fact one particular person did come back and had a medical and she passed. And the big passing was that I remember my [unclear] — fit, brave one, mentality alert. And so we were launched. And so I did various tasks in Finsbury Barracks. Including working on the telephone exchange at Clerkenwell. And then in October 1940 I was posted. And I went off with a rug in a rug bag and ready to go to the trenches really. That’s what we thought would happen. But anyhow off we went to Royal Air Force Station Bassingbourn. B A S S I N G B O U R N. Which is near Royston in Hertfordshire and Cambridge. And that was an Operational Training Unit for Wellington bombers and we, I was in the equipment section and typing on a Royal machine. And you see, I mean, they said, ‘You’re setting that machine on fire.’ There was a lot of nonsense going on. We were all very young. And one of the people who was stationed there was Hope Embry and her husband Basil Embry became a most highly honoured and significant member of Bomber Command. And he survived the war. I think you can read more about Basil Embry. But he was a lovely person. Obviously, I was all of seventeen and thought I was, I’d conquered the world, you know. I had arrived. But he was, I suppose much older. Probably twenty five you know. And there was Corporal Bates who was in charge of equipment in this Operational Training Unit and he used to tell us a story of how he was in charge of, of parachutes. And his parachute, what it did, what happened was they decided to change where the parachute, they had the rip cord here but then they decided it was awkward, and fear. And he used to tell us this gruesome story of a pilot who used his parachute, forgot it was on this side and they said he’d scratched himself to nothing on the way. We always used to be horrified by that story. And so it was very, very interesting and we saw the Wellington bombers. We met a lot of sergeant pilots. There was one man called Wally Walsh who was from Toronto. And I remember another, Len Day from London. There was several of them. And what we used to do as we became a little more used to Royal Air Force life we’d walk up to the pub at Royston. It was probably not as far as Royston — Bassingbourn. A local pub. Well I always remember before I left to join the air force or to go to Bassingbourn my mother said, ‘Now, Priscilla, you may, you must be very careful what you drink.’ She said, ‘You may have a shandy. Ginger beer shandy. You may have a little sherry, but no cocktails. Don’t you ever have cocktails,’ and since then I never had a cocktail. Now I never drink cocktails [laughs] but it was all very innocent. Two or three of us used to go with these dear men. They were just that much older than us. They never took advantage of us. We all went up to the pub and had a shandy and played shove ha’penny and had a lot of laughter. And those were those early days of the war, before Christmas in 1939. And then I went, I remember I went home for Christmas. Some of the, some of these pilots had had a car and one of them drove a lot of us up to London where my mother was now living in a flat. And so that was the first Christmas of the war. And my brother came down, still in the army, from wherever he was stationed. Bushey I think. And so life was very interesting and we learned a lot. Bassingbourn. And it was very, especially good for me because my, my cousin was still at University in Cambridge. And so I could cycle to Cambridge. In fact one day I walked from Bassingbourn to Cambridge. This was lovely. It was fun. So we did that. And there was talking about photographic interpretation. There was a Photographic Interpretation Unit at Benson just near, and I had never went to Benson but I met people who were there. And it was wonderful work they did interpreting a little dot in the sky. In those days with no, no modern facilities. And they did wonderful work those photographic people. And then we used to go into Royston. So then, in May 1940 a message came, or a signal came. My name was Welsh then. W E L S H. That was my maiden name. I meant to tell you that going to Cambridge I met, I’d already met him but I met Paul who I was eventually to marry or who would marry me. But he was a great friend of my cousin. They were having their last year at Cambridge and then they both went off. He into the army and Paul was, who I married, into the navy. But that’s another story. Anyway, that was so, I didn’t waste much time when I was at Bassingbourn. But I enjoyed every minute. It was all an education. Like a university education I suppose. And so then I was stationed, sent to London to the Air Ministry War Room. W A R room. In, in Whitehall. Near the [pause] I think it’s a, not the Home Office [pause] I can’t remember but it was that end building at the end [unclear] at Whitehall. And the Spanish, the St James’ Steps, King Charles Steps below, in to Green Park. Anyway, I went there as a rookie little WAAF and was put in to a correspondence. What do you call it? Just give me a minute.
MC: Secretarial. Typing and —
PH: Just put this thing off a minute.
[recording paused]
PH: Well, I was in the room where all the correspondence came. And in those days in The Air Ministry in 1940 it all came through on tubes. Like you have at the grocer’s shop or the haberdashers. You know ,they all had these tubes coming in, down and these messages would come in. So really it was a very responsible job because extraordinary messages came. One actually I remember was Amy Johnson. Amy. She was the wonderful pilot. And she had been, some said she’d been shot down into the Thames but she, she had crashed in to the Thames in London at that time. That would be about probably June 1940. So this, then I was to be there in the Air Ministry War Room for the next year and actually it was May 1941. We used to go up to, walk up to Westminster to Trafalgar Square for lunch. And Myra Hess played and it was quite peaceful. Then of course the Blitz started. And so then I had very interesting work then but we seemed to just take it in our stride because we did twelve hours on, twelve hours off in the War Room. And we’d have just a, right down in the bowels of the, of the War Rooms. The War Office I’m sure. And we used to have time off and we’d go up and amongst the ramparts of the building. Churchill and Clemmie would be walking about too because he had his secret place down below. Quite close to where we were. And the whole idea, object of the War Room, Air Ministry War Room was to supply the Cabinet War Room with up to date information. So all the correspondence came in and then we distributed to the, to the necessary parts. One of the very important parts was stats. Statisticians. How many tons of bombs had been dropped. Tons of bombs and then piles of bombs I think they called them in America. So stats was very important. And somebody was working at the back at the war room on them and it was very interesting because they were also working in the Battle of Britain. So messages were coming in and they’d, rather like the cricket scores. Twenty four for two. Six for eight. You know. They were counting it all. So that was a very interesting time for me. But then suddenly when I could go into all sorts of details but there was a great feeling of, of confidence and hope. You know, we never thought of any other way but we did realise that by then, by 1940, the end of 1940 just before the Blitz ended, the big Blitz ended there were no more planes. No more pilots. Just one more and suddenly Hitler had a brainstorm and decided he was going to attack Russia. Do something extraordinary. So my part as a WAAF, I was still a WAAF, they suddenly said I must go on a corporal’s course. I said, ‘Oh that’s lovely.’ I can’t remember where I went to that course. It may have been to Alnwick for that. I know I went to Alnwick in South Shields later but, so I did a corporal’s course and came back with these two stripes and was sent. I can’t, I can’t remember. Oh yes. I was sent to Tangmere but to be down in a little GCI station, Durrington near Tangmere. Anyway, I wasn’t long on that course and somebody said I must go on an officer’s course. Oh I know. Sorry. I did go from that corporal’s course. I went up to Chester. To Cheshire. To Honington. RAF. That’s it. From the corporal’s course that other bit. I never went, I didn’t go back to the War Room. I was sent to RAF Honington in, in Cheshire. Near Liverpool. So there I was with a, with a very nice sergeant. Woman sergeant. And she and I became great friends. And we had a big challenge at, as you were, it was not Honington. Honington was where my bomber friends went. It was Hooton Park in Cheshire. And that’s where I was stationed for, from April 1941 ‘til about July I think. And my promotion to sergeant came through and then in the same correspondence I was told I must go to an officer’s course at Loughborough. I remember saying, ‘Can’t I be a sergeant first and then go to Loughborough?’ They said, ‘No. You must stay as a corporal then you go to Loughborough.’ So I went to do the officer’s course at Loughborough and I was there for six weeks I suppose, whatever. And somehow or other I passed and I went to, I was posted to Tangmere. But going back a while I haven’t said enough about that time that I was in Bassingbourn. Can I go back to that? Because these, I told you about these, these chaps who were, they were all sergeant pilots and very fine men. Then they went off to — one went to Honington in Bomber Command and the other one went to Marham. I think he was 215 Squadron in Honington and 9 Squadron in Marham. Also up near Bury St Edmunds and there they flew and then I lost touch with them really but I know that Len Day went to Malta with Bomber Command. And while he stayed in London and then as war went on one lost touch. But I knew they did wonderful work. But I never really found out what happened to them but these people were the salt of the earth and so steady. And so that that time in in Bassingbourn which I just spoke about earlier made a very strong impression on me. It was a short time really but it was, it gave me inspiration and confidence and as I said earlier one always felt secure. They weren’t, there weren’t problems. At least I never found them. Probably there were too. So now I go back to my arrival at Tangmere. The day I arrived at Tangmere everybody was in mourning because Bader, the famous legless pilot, had been shot down that day. That was in August 1941. And there’s this famous story about his legs. They wanted to, the Germans said they’d give safe passage for his legs. And Fighter Command said not on your life. We’ll bring them over, as it was [laughs] if you catch us you catch us. We don’t want any special courtesies. We’ll just bring his legs. And they did. They flew them over. I think they parachuted them down. And Bader went on to have an extraordinary career too as a prisoner of war. But it was very interesting for me to be at Tangmere. There were Hurricanes and Spitfires and they’d had a tremendous bashing in the Blitz and a lot of people were killed and a lot of WAAF were also injured. And some of them were, were honoured with medals for bravery in that Blitz. But this was in 1940 when I was in London. So I, I went after that so all was so called peaceful then. There was no more bombing there. And then they, they had, this was what I was saying earlier. It was a little station near Ford, near Arundel, also in Sussex. Down from Tangmere. And I was put in charge, only having been on a course as an adjutant. And I was put in charge of this little station which was GCI and doing, working in radar. This favourite vital work. So we had this little office down below then, up at the top of the hill where these people were working on the radar. And wonderful things that came from, from that radar time. Interception and all that and I knew the [pause] when I was at Durrington it was probably early in 1941. There was a, it would be probably September ‘41 there was a warning that the Germans were coming to Durrington. They’d be parachuted in to, to get the people who were doing the radar work up at the top of the hill and kidnap them and take them back. And so they said, ‘Now, you people here below who are looking after them, you are going to be getting issued with Tommy guns so that you can protect your people.’ And along came a Home Guard. A Home Guard chap with a Tommy gun and he said to me, ‘I want you to learn to fire a Tommy gun. When the Germans come you’ve just got to pick this thing up and go boom, boom, boom and he’ll be dead and then you,’ [laughs] and then I put it on my shoulder and tried and I couldn’t do a thing with it [laughs]. I said, ‘I’m very sorry but you’ll have to have a bigger chap than me to protect these people.’ So there was a lot of laughter about that and of course the, again Hitler changed his mind and they didn’t come. So then, when I was there in Durrington and got married in the middle but that’s another story. A lovely time. It really was. My brother was, by that time, in the air force and he’d been shot down in the North Sea but rescued after two days and my husband Paul had been in the Malta convoy. He’d been in a Russian convoy but at this time he was in a Malta convoy relieving with The Ohio which was a ship with supplies for Malta. And anyway while he was in this convoy in Italy somewhere they were very upset. They were bombed by an Italian plane which was very interesting, and they said the plane was badly hurt, the ship was destroyed. They’d lost a whole keg of sherry they’d been given somewhere. That upset them. Anyway, he, he survived and we were married in 1942. In the war. Again near Cambridge, near Bassingbourn. So I was stationed. I went on to be stationed at Durrington and then went on another course and my, my husband left South Shields in his destroyer, a new destroyer to go to the Far East and he was away for three years. And I was on another course at Alnwick and enjoyed that. And I was stationed. Then I was sent to Biggin Hill. Stationed at Biggin. Again as adjutant. Sailor Malan was a famous South African pilot. And a lot of the Free French Air Force were there. And they were famous because they had at Biggin Hill, the squadrons there had shot down a thousand bombers. There was a tremendous publicity stunt with the papers. There was a big ball at the Dorchester to which we all went. All the, all the Windmill Girls were given open invitations to come to Biggin Hill for that weekend so there were high jinks with the Windmill and the other, I suppose night club characters would come. And Biggin Hill was the talk of every Sunday newspaper and everywhere in the world. They shot down a thousand planes and all the wonderful men which of course they were wonderful men. There was no doubt about it. And then they were to have a reception at [pause] in, at Biggin and Lord Trenchard was to come. Lord Trenchard, one of the founders of the Royal Air Force. Royal Flying Corps. And he came and the pilots told me that he, he came very much in his military Royal Flying Corps sort of uniform I think. Very impressive. He came and he said, ‘Good day gentleman,’ he said, ‘I come here to give you one message. It’s the bomber’s boys who is going to win this war. Good day gentlemen.’ And he turned and left. All the deflated people who were not really. That was, that was the big thing was the bomber boys who were going to win this war which of course we remember very well happened. And that, the tragedy of that was that the bombers did the job they had to do as we well know with, and I had many friends there and people to do with it and the casualties I knew. But after the war they were treated like [pause] like rats had left the ship. It was disgraceful. And people said, ‘They bombed Dresden. Dresden. With all that china. Look what they did,’ and I’d say, ‘Well Dresden was a route for those bouncing bombers to go thorough.’ They were, they were transporting all these bombs to go through to wherever they did. So those bombs were based before they bombed. These wonderful men who of course I can’t even think of the names as I’m talking but everybody knows them and they, well they saved, saved England really. Saved the world. And we all said if it had not been done, if the bombing had not been done successfully we would all be speaking German today in England. Nobody really saw that. People still don’t realise the precarious critical situation we were in because Churchill would always talk and buoy us up and life went on. And those bombers and the fighters. We all needed each other. And the Coastal Command and Transport Command, and balloons we all needed but it was the bombers who were the vital factor in any war. And their bombing saved Britain and to me it is, one feels ashamed that they’re only now being recognised and still people say, ‘But they bombed Dresden. How could they dare to bomb Dresden?’ Never mind they bombed London and would have absolutely finished us if they’d had their way. So, so where did we go from there? Let’s have a rest.
MC: Do you want me to turn this off for a short while?
[recording paused]
PH: I’m talking with Margaret about Bomber Command and at Hucknall and Scampton and others that I can’t remember, some of those. I was never actually stationed again on a Bomber Command station but we knew about them and recognised them and honoured them and a lot of the, it was an extraordinary life they lived because they lived in a nice cosy little English town where they’d be in tea rooms and life would go on and the station, people stationed nearby and some of the pilots —
[doorbell rings. Recording paused]
MC: Ok.
PH: Can you go back to what I said?
[recording paused]
PH: I was probably talking about, have you been to the War Room in in —? Cabinet War Room in —
MC: In London.
PH: King Charles’ Steps there. And you know how they said there’s nothing more. There’s nothing we can do. And then Hitler, you know, we believe in prayer. I don’t know, we’d had, we’d had a World Day of Prayer and suddenly Hitler changed his mind, we don’t know. I don’t know. I’m not telling anybody what they should or should not do or how they should be but there is something more than we know. It’s not just, it’s not just the computer and wireless and all these wonderful new ways of [pause] somebody said I’m watching a good film. Somebody gave me a stick. You get a stick and you put it in your television and then you watch a film. So we’ve got all these wonderful contraptions and things but we still can’t regulate the weather. We can’t regulate the tides and we can’t regulate the eclipses of the moon and the sun. And what happened two thousand years ago at such a time suddenly happens again two thousand years later, whatever, at such a time. There’s something more than even our brains can do. But so there we are. So I was talking about the faith and they had the, there was faith. We couldn’t have managed without faith in those days of war and I think maybe we might have done better in these last ten years if we hadn’t been prohibiting people from praying at the school. And you mustn’t mention Jesus and you mustn’t talk about Christmas. You talk about the holiday. Anyway, somehow and then other people come and say what’s what about this God? He doesn’t do anything for us. Well poor chap he doesn’t get much chance. He’s not allowed. So I’m not into religious talk but I do believe in faith and I do believe that it was the faith and prayer that brought us through that war. Maybe without, it would have happened, but we haven’t come through very well this lot. So where are we back to? Can you just stop a minute?
[recording paused]
PH: And then the pilots would get married and their wives would come down and stay in the local hotel or boarding house or get a house and next to the RAF station so they’d live a normal sort of life. But then at night time they’d hear boom boom. The bombers going off. Counted them and when they came back five, six, sixth where’s the sixth? And they’d be off to the station to see if their husband had come home. So there was an extraordinary artificial but normal life living right in a war. Yet going as I say, you would go to the flicks. Everybody went to the flicks in those days, and going to the pub. So that I think the wives and the mothers really suffered. Even if they were in a town where they didn’t have a husband or son or somebody they heard the bombers going off and they would listen for them to come back and there would be one short or none would come back or something. And they would be very much aware of these people. So there was a strong [pause] a feeling of rationing, of letters to the Far East. Air letters we did, air letter cards we wrote. And they would be they would be minimised and sent off. And I think that people like myself who were privileged to be in the air force it was a full interesting life. We were all in it together. But for the mothers with the children and the one egg and a couple of potatoes a week and maybe some, a bit of meat — it was, it must have been terrible. And those cold, cold winters. One, one good thing that came in the war at that time was Lord Woolton and his feeding. All those children. They were very bonny — the wartime children. He had a special orange juice sort of proceeded so that all every child had on their ration card — orange juice. No bananas. They didn’t know about bananas in those days. So that the children were well cared for but the mothers had a terrible time. And other people who came into the war at that time and did a lot of, a lot, a great job, were the land girls. And the Land Girls were often employed on, on farms and learned to milk the cows and to make up the hay and all the rest of it. But some of them of course were misused and used as maids. They would milk the cows and then come on in and make the breakfast for the farmer and his wife and his children. And they’d wash up afterwards and then go back to the fields. So the Land Girls were magnificent and did a great job. And the other people I always feel we’d never, they’d never been, to my knowledge, been recognised as they should have been were the mechanics. When those fighter planes landed the mechanics were there. They bashed, probably had some shooting, and the pilot would go off and have a shower and had some breakfast. Meantime this chap would be working on his plane so it was ready and he could take off again. Take off. And it’s the same with the bombers. Those chaps who looked after the — the engineers and the, all the people who worked on the planes. One has never really heard enough recognition of them, or for them. I think that is something that is missing. Maybe you could mention that to your people in Bomber Command. And Fighter Command too. Because they were, they were on the job and of course suffered terribly when their pilot was killed. And they, you know became, you know mates. Worked together. Worked on the plane. And so that was that. So then I told you I was, I did the officer’s course at Loughborough and I went to Tangmere and then did where I’d been. I’d put Hooton Park as well. But then I went to Biggin Hill. I told you this and as I said Sailor Malan was there. And Churchill lived nearby at Chartwell. And Sailor Malan’s wife was there too and she had a baby and Churchill was the baby’s godfather. He was there. It was a wonderful station Biggin. In spite of it being rather choked off by Lord Trenchard telling them that it would be the bombers who would win the war. Separate from Biggin Hill I went, I was sent on another course. Of course they loved to send us on courses. So it was very like being at university but you’re not. And a lot of legal work too. Not that I can remember any of it now, as you can hear. I can’t always remember the names of the stations but from, from Biggin Hill I went on this course and it was and I went to Shrewsbury, Shropshire. To Montford Bridge. And that was another training station. Rather like Bassingbourn had been originally. And I was stationed there as adjutant near another big RAF station — Oswestry. All near Shrewsbury. And the, and at Montford Bridge there were Czechoslovakian and Polish pilots all waiting. Doing circuits and bumps waiting to go. To go off, to fight. They were waiting to go off but the weather was dull all the time. and they were frustrated. And the Poles and the Czechs were not good friends so there wasn’t always a very good atmosphere there. But they were lovely. They used to call me — the Poles used to call me mamushka [gihana?] — little mother. And I, because I had to sort of tell them what to do. ‘Oh Adjie, can’t we do —?’ They wanted to fly but they couldn’t. They nearly went mad because the weather was so bad. And that was in, I’m talking now about 1943. October. That sort of time. And while I was stationed, while I was stationed there I had a phone call to say that my brother had been — it was an accident I think in a Mosquito night bomber and his plane had crashed. And he was alright but his observer wasn’t, and he went to try to rescue him and he was also burned. That was my twin brother. November 1943. Seventy something years ago now, just this week. So then somehow or other I didn’t apply so I left Montford Bridge and I went back to the Air Ministry of War Room in 1943, November. And I was in the Far East operations and was there ‘til the end of the war. ‘Till ’45. But my job there was to monitor signals that came in. And they came in then for one and we had to read them and work out the tonnage of bombs that had been dropped. This was all in the Solomons, in the New Guinea. All near Australia. All the fighting of the Japs which were impossible really. We’d never beat them as it seemed. Anyhow, we had to have this report ready by four in the morning to go through to Churchill to go to the Cabinet War Room where Churchill would be with, of course, all his people. And it had to be accurate. And I remember I made a mistake of saying Zagreb was [pause] and they were dropping bombs, dropping bombs on Zagreb which was west of, of the ocean. Of course it was east. Whatever it was I got it wrong and Churchill in amongst all the other things he picked up this mistake and it came back. He didn’t miss a trick. But it was very interesting time in the War Room with the Far East and the war going on in Italy. That was a new one. Remember we were fighting in Italy. That was an unnecessary tragedy too. And that was the time when I was in London of the bomb. What did they call them? Dropped bombs. I can’t remember. They came through silently and they dropped.
MC: Oh I know.
[pause]
MC: I know what you mean. Yes.
PH: I had a few adventures with that. And we were stationed in London again and it was a very exciting time in a way waiting. Waiting for D-day. Buzz bombs they were called buzz bombs. And they were the ones that were boom boom boom and then you heard them when it stopped that’s where they dropped. And then they had an even worse bomb that just came silently and it just, you didn’t know and the next thing was chaos. I experienced a bit of that when I was living by then at, when a whole group of us WAAF worked for officers all together in Chelsea. We had, there was a flat and somebody else had a room and we all used to get together. And there was quite a bit of bombing then in the night again. And I remember one of our, one of our friends had a flat in Chelsea. She had a lovely flat upstairs which she’d had for some years, it was her home. We were down, we were down below. A couple of us were down below in more the basement. So we would all come down to the basement for the night when the bombing was on. And then next day we’d go up onto the, into her flat when the sun was shining. And a big fruit to have in those days was rhubarb. We’d always have rhubarb. And I remember we had rhubarb at the top of the nook for pudding and he used to call them — we always heard, none of us had had babies but we always heard that the, after your baby you have a wonderful sort of party. You forget all the pain, all the problems, and just sit down and enjoy it. We used to call them our post baby, post bombing breakfast. Then I can remember going back again. Way back to when I was in the War Room in 1940. Again, we were caught one night going somewhere. A friend had had a flat in Ebury Street in, near Victoria Station. So the bombing was pretty hard that night but she had one of these records playing the Warsaw Concerto which had just come out and some Beethoven and boom, boom, boom you know, the sign from France when the code Beethoven’s fifth. So I can remember those days. We were really in trouble but it was alright. We were all in it together. And that’s, as I said earlier was how I felt sorry for the mothers who were left behind with the children and rationing and clothing. Maybe their own sick mother with them. Their diets were not easy. Neither, as I’ve said earlier, were the lives of the people that maintained the aircraft and the ships and the guns in the air force. We have a very fine young woman. Well, she’s not young any more, she’s my sort of age. She was on searchlights in London, and in the park and they used these lights all the time. And that must have been a big, big strain because they were right out on Hyde Park and I suppose Regent’s Park with these lights going, so they were a certain target for the bombers but she survived it all. She’s written her book about it. Then came, going back again now to the War Room and there was D-Day which we were all involved in in the War Room of course. And still the Japanese war going on I was very much involved in that. There were reports coming in. And we, the [unclear] then there was that sudden war. Somebody decided to fight in Holland between Holland and Germany and a lot of casualties there. I can’t, I’m trying to think of the name. We can probably think of it afterwards. But where the army obviously were involved. I’ll think of it, and tell you later but it was in, it was in Christmas 1944 because the, it was D-day was June ’44. 6th of June. But this was another little war that somebody seemed to start and it was on the Holland/German border, and we had a lot of casualties. And then after that came, came May and the end of the war. And I remember we were all, we were, I was on duty in the War Room that night and so we phoned Buckingham palace and asked, ‘Would the king and queen be out?’ And they said, ‘Yes.’ So we all went down to Buckingham Palace.
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AHenwoodP171125
PHenwoodP1701
Title
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Interview with Priscilla Henwood
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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01:00:01 audio recording
Creator
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Margaret Carr
Date
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2017-11-25
Description
An account of the resource
Priscilla was encouraged by a friend’s father to join the 600 Squadron in anticipation of the war. She was called up and was based at Finsbury Barracks, involved in recruitment. Priscilla also worked on the telephone exchange at Clerkenwell.
In October 1940, she was posted to RAF Bassingbourn, an Operational Training Unit for Wellingtons. Hope Embry, wife of Basil Embry was stationed there.
Priscilla was sent to the Air Ministry War Room in Whitehall and received correspondence in pneumatic tube system. She recalls an extraordinary message about Amy Johnson crashing into the Thames. She would see Churchill and his wife. They provided the Cabinet War Office with information, including statistics.
Priscilla went on a corporal’s course and was stationed briefly at RAF Hooton Park. After promotion to sergeant, she was sent on an officers’ course at Loughborough and then posted to RAF Tangmere and the ground-controlled interception (GCI) radar station at RAF Durrington. Priscilla was put in charge of the GCI station near RAF Ford. She did another course at Alnwick and was then made adjutant at RAF Biggin Hill.
Priscilla expresses her disappointment with how Bomber Command was treated after the war. She praises the land girls and mechanics, who were often overlooked.
Priscilla went to RAF Montford Bridge and was an adjutant at RAF Rednal. She returned to the Air Ministry War Room in 1943 and was involved in the Far East operations until the end of the war, monitoring signals. On D-Day they all went down to Buckingham Palace.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cheshire
England--Sussex
England--London
Temporal Coverage
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1939
1940
1941
1943
1944
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Sally Coulter
600 Squadron
bombing
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
faith
ground personnel
Operational Training Unit
perception of bombing war
promotion
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Biggin Hill
RAF Hooton Park
RAF Tangmere
training
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/3527/PYeomanHT1601.1.jpg
81e8d485ebaa1faca0c2e7fc8ce934c8
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/3527/AYeomanHT161013.1.mp3
bc5e3721d340abe4d24b5b171dcc0968
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Yeoman, Harold
Harold Yeoman
Harold T Yeoman
H T Yeoman
Description
An account of the resource
31 items. Collection concerns Harold Yeoman (b. 1921 1059846 and 104405 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a pilot with 12 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, a memoir, pilot's flying log book, 26 poems, a photograph and details of trail of Malayan collaborator.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Christopher E. Potts and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-10-28
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Yeoman, HT
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
PL: My name’s Pam Locker. And I’m here today in the home of Mr Harold Yeoman of [deleted] on Thursday the 13th of October at 10 o’clock. 2016. So I’d just like to start Harold by saying thank you very much indeed on behalf of Bomber Command Memorial Trust for agreeing to an interview today. And if I could just start by asking you a little bit about your, your younger life and how you came to be involved with Bomber Command in the first place.
HY: Well, as far as my younger life’s concerned I worked in local government. And when the year came to about 1935 or ‘6, it was the day that Mussolini invaded Abyssinia, I realised then that I was of an age where I would have to do something. So, I talked to my parents and I had, my father had been in the army in the First World War and the RAMC. My brother was just about ready to go into the Royal Artillery. So my thoughts were primarily of army. And I thought well, I’ve got to volunteer for something before I’m called up and told what they’re going to do. They might put me in the Navy which I thought would be pretty horrible. So I went along to the local Drill Hall, the Army Drill Hall and said, ‘I’ve come to volunteer.’ And they said, ‘Well, that’s very hard lines because we’re full up. You can go on the waiting list if you like.’ I said, ‘No. I don’t think so. I’ll find something else.’ So [coughs] excuse me about that time I used to go to the pictures about once a week and one of the newsreels that came on, it was black and white of course was quite topical. It was dealing with wartime subjects and it was, the screen was divided into four parts. The picture. And one of the parts was a tank. Another one was a big gun and the one I was interested in was a picture of an aircraft flying along from left to right. I didn’t know what it was then but later I realised it was an Avro Anson. And here was a little man sitting in the gun turret on the top of the Anson. And I thought I could do that. You know, I don’t see why I shouldn’t do that. So, instead of thinking about the army I started thinking about the air force. Anyhow, the army said they were full up, they’d put me on the waiting list. I said, ‘No, thank you. I’ll find something else.’ The something else turned out to be the air force. So my brother who was eight years older than me and he saw what I was going to do and he got a bit jealous. He said, ‘Well, I’ll do the same thing.’ So we both went up to [laughs] we both went up to Newcastle to the, the Recruiting Centre which was in the west end of Newcastle. Scotswood Road. It was a school up on the hill and said, ‘We’ve come to volunteer for the, the air force.’ They said, ‘Righto.’ Took all my particulars and took my brothers particulars and said, ‘Well, you’ve got to have a medical.’ I said, ‘Ok. I can do that.’ And said, ‘well, come this way.’ They gave me [laughs] they just counted my arms and legs and saw whether I could see. They said, ‘Oh yes, you’ve got through.’ So that was it. ‘Just go outside and we’ll do the rest.’ So my brother came out and I said, ‘How did you get on?’ He said, ‘Oh. I failed.’ I said, ‘You failed?’ He said, ‘Yeah.’ I said, ‘What was the matter?’ He said, ‘Well, I’ve got varicose veins.’ I said, ‘Well, so have I but I got through.’ I got a small one which has developed since then but it’s no bother. Never mind. So he came away quite despondent and I came away quite happy that I’d got in to the air force and volunteered for aircrew. I thought I’d be a gunner sitting in the top turret of an Anson somewhere or other. And in due course I got a letter to say that I had to report to the Reception Centre at Babbacombe, a suburb of Torquay. Just, it was just described as P, I think it was P, PUB or something like that which meant pilot, observer or bomb aimer or something some such. POB. So I reported there and learned I was going to become a pilot which was a great surprise to me. So, did all the necessary ground subjects at Babbacombe. Drill, PT and so on and so forth and a bit of air force law. And then I was posted next door into Torquay itself at Number 3 Initial Training Wing. The subjects on the ground developed into a bit more complicated. A bit of navigation, some gunnery. A bit of air force law. As a subject dealing with tactics in, in the air when you were doing civilian, when you, before you got operational. And that all went off. I’d got a written examination there and passed that alright. And from there I was sent to really start finding out about aeroplanes which I’d never, I’d never been close to an aeroplane before that. Never been up in one. Never seen one close too. Never touched one. And went to Number 6 EFTS at Sywell which is just outside Northampton. It’s probably Northampton Civil Aerodrome now, where they had Tiger Moths and did my initiation on to Tiger Moths with a very unpleasant instructor who shall be nameless but I’ve got his name in the back of my mind. Got rid of him and got a much more pleasant instructor which improved my flying no end. I went solo in ten hours forty five minutes I think. Something like that. And I did my first solo flight in a Tiger Moth on Christmas Eve of 1940. And I did my first solo cross-country from Sywell to Cambridge where there was another EFTS where I had to land, report to the watch office and take off again. Come back to, come back to Sywell. Navigating myself which was quite easy. Had a map on my knee. Had to keep a log on the other knee. And I got through that alright and that was more or less the end of that course. And did some aerobatics which I was not very good at. Which I was very poor at actually. From there I didn’t know what was going to happen but I soon found out the next stage was the intermediate training which because of the enemy activity that was going on was done as far away from England as possible. So I was sent out to Canada to 32 SFTS at Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan where I flew Harvards. I went solo on them inside a very short order. It was only about half a dozen hours of duel I think on Harvards. We did the same sort of, same type of flying. Solo cross-country’s lasting anything up to about an hour and hour and a half. One was from Moose Jaw to a place called Dafoe. Up north in the north of Saskatchewan. From Dafoe to Watrous which was another small town. And from Watrous back to Moose Jaw. That was quite a nice, nice ride. And did a certain amount of aerobatics at which I was very, very poor. I thought well if I’m going to be a fighter pilot this is not going to serve me very well. So, at the finish of the, the course when I got through everything including examiners, examinations, the interview by the chief instructor, chief flying instructor, then the chief instructor of the station who was a very nice chap and he said, ‘Well, I suppose you want to go on to Spitfires like everybody else do you?’ I said, ‘No sir. I don’t.’ He said, ‘You don’t. What do you want to do?’ I said, ‘I want to go on to bombers.’ I said, ‘My aerobatics are very poor. I know that myself. And my instrument flying is quite good and I enjoy instrument flying so I’d rather go on to bombers.’ He said, ‘Well, I can’t promise you anything but we’ll see what we can do.’ And in due course I came back to England and was sent to Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourn which had Wellingtons. Amazingly enough I went solo on Wellingtons in less than four hours which was astonishing to me because I’d only flown single engine up ‘til then and getting into a Wellington was like coming in to a, in to a house. It was huge in my eyes having just been on single engine stuff. So I went solo on them in about three hours forty five minutes or so and did sort of a lot of basic work. Cross country’s and a bit of blind flying with the hood pulled down so you couldn’t see where you were. Including a blind take off. Well, that was very interesting. Settling down on the runway and getting yourself central. Then the instructor said, ‘Pull the hood down now and you’re going off.’ So I had to just do the take off completely blind with the instructor in the front and just went off by feeling when it was ready to get airborne. Eased back on the stick and away we went. And when I got airborne, climbed up to a thousand feet or so he said, ‘Right. Pull the hood back now. That was ok.’ That was an interesting one. I enjoyed that very much. And that was the initiation on to Wellingtons. Then the important thing was the crewing up which as you may know was done in a very haphazard manner. I just went into a room and there was a whole lot of mixture of pilots, observers as they were then. Observers as were then navigators and bomb aimers. There were gunners as well. And it was just a whole crowd of people and you just had to sort out your own crew and you’d come up to somebody and say, ‘Are you looking for a navigator?’ ‘Are you looking for a gunner?’ And it was like that. Well, I got a good navigator in an Australian chap called Colin Fletcher. The wireless op was from Solihull. We know, we knew him as Mick. Mick Pratt. And the two gunners. One was from Sudbury in Suffolk, Johnny Roe. And the rear gunner was from Balham. He was Tommy Evans. And that was the crew. So we then flew as a crew and did all the basic cross-country flying, night and day. And by that time we were ready to be posted on to a squadron. So we were posted to 12 Squadron at Binbrook. And that’s how I got to 12 Squadron. So was that enough or do you want some more?
PL: Well, what happened next? Once you got to Binbrook. Tell me a little bit about your operations.
HY: Yes. Well, we got to Binbrook as a crew and to [pause] I got into [pause] I was sent to B Flight which was commanded by Squadron Leader Abraham who was a very pleasant chap. And [coughs] my co-pilot who had been a Canadian, he wasn’t, I thought he was a Canadian. He was American actually. My co-pilot whom I picked up at OTU was then, he was detached to go in to another crew and I became co-pilot to Sergeant Potts and we did one or two operations. I did one or two operations with him. The first one I did was supposed to be to Cherbourg as a fresher operation which was one of the Channel Ports. And that was ok except that when we got as far as the south coast of England we started to have trouble with the starboard engine which started to leak glycol vapour. The glycol vapour then became ignited due to the exhaust, the heat of the exhaust. And the engine caught fire and we were trailing a plume of flame about sixty or eighty feet long. And the, the captain who said, who was a very nice bloke actually, Sergeant Potts, he said , ‘We’re going to have to put this thing down somewhere.’ So, it was pitch dark. It was at night and there was a bit of a moon and we, I didn’t know where we were and neither, I suppose neither did he because the navigation had just gone completely out of the window on that side. It was a question of survival. We were too low to bale out. We were only at, on the, over the coast. We were about eight or ten thousand feet. And the, the captain said, ‘We’ve got to go back because the engine’s giving trouble.’ This was before it caught fire. He said, ‘There’s no point in sticking around up here on oxygen. We might as well go down low.’ So we got down to two or three thousand feet by which time the engine had really caught fire. And we started to lose height almost immediately on one engine and we were too low to bale out. Ralph Potts said, ‘I’m going to have to put it down somewhere.’ So eventually we, we did a crash landing in a field by which time the engine was more or less, had more or less subsided. I’d pressed the fire extinguisher button and eventually it took effect. It flooded the engine with foam apparently. I didn’t know that. But I just pressed the button and hoped. Kept my fingers crossed. So, we, we came down in this field and luckily without any undue further mishaps. The engine was still very red hot. And when we hit the field we broke the back of the geodetics which came up through the floor and the aircraft was virtually in two bits. Luckily there was no, no injury to anybody so we all got out the, out of the top escape hatch over the pilot’s seat. And as we got out I was the last one out. I got the rest of the crew out. The captain went out first and I got the crew out by the seat of their pants. Literally pushed them out of the top and they jumped down on to the wing. I was the last one out. As I got out I found that the port engine with having flown on that for so long that was now red hot itself and I thought well that’s going to catch fire so I had to get back in and press the extinguisher button on the port engine. And that was it. We, we all got in to the field and didn’t know where we were. The next thing we knew there was an army corporal came across and said, you know, ‘Are you all ok?’ And we said, ‘Yeah. We’re all walking,’ And I said, ‘Where are we?’ He said, ‘Well, you’re near St Albans.’ So that was news to us. And he helped us over the hedge and the army then took charge of us and said, ‘We’d better get you some billets for the night and get you to a telephone. You can ring your aerodrome, let them know what’s happened.’ So we got the IFF box out of the aircraft. Which was the secret, highly secret in those days, it was a radar tracking appliance which we put on fifty miles from the English coast. We took, sorry we turned that off fifty miles from the English coast going out and put it on a hundred miles from the English coast coming back. And we took that out of the aircraft and put it into the local police station in to the safe. I was billeted in the house with a couple of middle aged ladies and just slept on the floor. There was nowhere else we could go. We got through to the, to Binbrook and let them know that we were, where we were. That we were down and safe and that the aircraft was rather bent. That was about it. We got, we got a meal, a couple of meals at the house. Thanked the ladies very much. And the next morning we got rail warrants to get back to Binbrook. So we had to travel by train from St Albans to London, across London and then from London up to Grimsby. And from Grimsby we got transport to, to Binbrook. And it was a bit, a bit amusing having to go across London on foot and in our flying kit with parachutes. People were looking at us thinking we were enemy spies. But we had, we had quite a nice journey from Kings Cross up to Grimsby. There was, I think there was a business that saw our predicament and didn’t ask many questions but he knew we’d had some trouble. So he took us along to the dining car and gave us a meal which was very kind of him. Anyhow, we got back to Binbrook and resumed activity. That was it.
PL: So, did your, your plane had to be rescued, was that repairable or were you given a new plane?
HY: I think it was. I think it was eventually put together again. And whether it became operational I don’t know but it wasn’t a complete right-off but it was as near as makes no matter [pause] And from then on we, I started in the, I’ve forgotten whose crew it was now. Oh yes it was a Canadian called Harold Cook, who took, took me over with the rest of the crew. My co-pilot, the American whom I thought was a Canadian, Elmer [Menchek?] he went into another crew and I flew with, with Harold Cook. Did a few operations with him which weren’t exactly uneventful but they were survivable. And then I developed, developed stomach trouble. Air sickness. I think it was with the stress of the burning aircraft which we’d had initially. I think that had a lot to do with it. The anti-aircraft fire had a lot more to do with it. And I was being airsick most of the, most of the time. I reported to the MO and he gave me some pills. But I did a few trips with, with these pills and they just didn’t work so I was then grounded. I was sent to Number 1 Group Headquarters at Bawtry Hall just to do a bit of admin as a supernumerary. And from there I went into intelligence. Became an intelligence officer. Did a course at Highgate in London. Got through that. Sent to, they asked me where I wanted to go to. I said well, told them where I lived. As far north as possible. So I got a posting to Linton on Ouse and there was an intelligence officer there for a time with 76 and 78 Squadron which had Halifaxes until I had a difference of opinion with the station commander who was a group captain. Greatly outranked me. He wanted me to do certain other jobs apart from intelligence work. I said, ‘Well, I don’t know how I’m going to fit them in. It’s not possible.’ He didn’t know. He’d just come, come from India. Been posted from India. He was what we called a wingless wonder or a penguin. And he hadn’t a clue about operational flying so as I said we had this difference of opinion. The next thing I knew I was shot out of the station. Posted elsewhere. You couldn’t win an argument with a group captain. It didn’t matter how hard you tried. So then he got rid of me and I was sent out of intelligence in to admin. Posted to [pause] I’m just trying to think of the name of the place now. It was a satellite of Mildenhall. Tuddenham. To assistant adjutant of 90 Squadron at Tuddenham. Which was a very, it was a nice job. It was not connected intimately with flying but it was, we had, we had aircraft on, on the station. That was the main thing. I did a time there and then the bull fell. I was posted to India. I reported to the one of the headquarters in Bombay and they said, ‘Well, you know you’re going to be posted to [pause] it was up in, on the northwest frontier. I said, ‘What’s the rank of the post?’ It was a sergeant who was doing the paperwork. He said, ‘Well it’s a flying officer post.’ And I was a flying officer by that time I’d got a thicker ring. I said, ‘Haven’t you got a flight lieutenant post anywhere?’ I thought I might as well stick my neck out and go the full hog. So he had another look at the paper and said, ‘Oh yes. We have as a matter of fact.’ So [laughs] I got a second ring and I’m just trying to think where I went. My memory is not as good as it was but —
PL: What year was this Harold?
HY: Oh, that was [pause] I think it would have been 1943 or ‘4. One or the other. And I got this flight lieutenant post at Baigachi, near Calcutta. From there I was posted further out east to Penang and I was adjutant of 185 Wing in Penang which was a very pleasant job because Penang is or probably still is the holiday resort of Malaya. And I had a very pleasant time there. It was quite an easy job. We had plenty time of job off. Played cricket. Played rugby. Played soccer. Everything that was going. Did the job as well. And made friends with a family in in George Town which was the, the main town on the island. And then the next thing that was, I think that was the end of my RAF service really because from then I was, I made my own, my own release document out. Being adjutant of 185 Wing I was responsible for moving people around. And I made my own release document out and came back to England and got released from the RAF. And that’s the end of the story.
PL: Well, Harold, just going back a little way. What were you, when you were India flying what what was the —
HY: I wasn’t flying in India.
PL: Oh right. Ok.
HY: No. No I’d been grounded.
PL: Right. Right.
HY: For good by then.
PL: Right.
HY: Had a medical board and been grounded.
PL: Oh right.
HY: Yeah.
PL: Ok. So none of that changed. So what sort of jobs were you doing?
HY: In India?
PL: Yes.
HY: Purely administrative. Movement of personnel. You’re responsible in a way for discipline among the NCOs and airmen which wasn’t a pleasant, it wasn’t an easy, it wasn’t a difficult job because they were all very well behaved. Apart from one bloke who shall be nameless. But they sorted him out quickly. And that was about it. I had plenty of time off and as I say played lots of sport and became quite friendly with as I said a local family who had a very charming daughter. We were quite friendly for a good time until I came home and we lost touch. And that was about it.
PL: And can, can I just take you back to your time in, at Linton when you were doing intelligence work and you left there. What sort of work was that?
HY: Well, that was at, at Linton on Ouse. What sort of work? Well, it was primarily briefing the crews for an operation and interrogating them when they came back. We had a form like you have. We had to ask certain questions. The first one was, ‘Where did you bomb?’ That was the, the target that you briefed them on and incidentally the targets were all military objectives. The aiming points as ours were when I was flying were military objectives. There was no question of deliberately bombing built up areas but we knew that there was now as you say his term collateral. We knew that built up areas were going to be hit. But the briefing was simply hit a certain factory. A main railway station. A GP — the head post office or some important communication centre. And when we came back we had to, they were asked, ‘Where did you bomb? And they always said the primary target which was what we’d briefed them on. ‘What height were you?’ ‘What course were you on?’ ‘How did you identify the target?’ ‘What was the opposition?’ ‘Where were the guns?’ ‘Were there many guns?’ ‘Where were they, where were they based?’ ‘Could you tell me where they were stationed around the target?’ And, ‘How did you identify the target?’ ‘And what was the navigation like?’ ‘What was the weather like?’ ‘What did you determine the wind speed and direction?’ How many, ‘What was the cloud formation?’ ‘How many, how much cloud was there in ten tenths, five tenths?’ Or whatever. And, ‘Did you see any aircraft shot down?’ ‘Could you identify them?’ ‘Where were they?’ ‘What time was it?’ And that was about all I think. So, any questions?
PL: Well, one thing that I always ask is how you felt Bomber Command were treated after the war? Do you have any comments you’d like to make about that?
HY: Yes. I think we became a dirty word. Nobody wanted to know us because we’d done some area bombing. Not, not personally. We knew that we were going to hit built up areas and quite frankly if we couldn’t find the primary target we used to say well we’ll just bomb a built up area if we can find one. And we would do that knowing that the Germans had started it by bombing Rotterdam and by bombing the East End of London fifty odd nights in a row. By bombing Coventry into obliteration. Incidentally, it’s a little aside, when I was in Northampton and they had Sywell posted, billeted out in Northampton with a very nice civilian family. They had a niece who had been in Coventry when it was very heavily bombed and she was staying with them at the time and we became friendly for quite a while ‘til I lost touch again. So as far as built up areas went we knew that the German Air Force had started indiscriminate bombing and our attitude was if we couldn’t find the primary target any built up area would do. We’d bomb any built up area irrespective of where it was as long as it was in enemy territory and it wasn’t in occupied territory which were, you know friendly territory to us. So that, that was the attitude we had about built up areas. There was two things we were, well the thing we were briefed on when we were sent on operations we’d got the primary target which as I say was a military objective — a factory, a railway station, a head post office. We got a primary target in the city. We got a secondary target. If you can’t find that one your secondary target is so and so. And failing all else your alternatives are what was known as SEMO and MOPA. S E M O and M O P A. Self Evident Military Objectives or Military Objectives Previously Attacked. SEMO and MOPA. They were the last resorts. And that was it.
PL: So, we’re just going to stop the tape for the moment.
[recording paused]
PL: Re-commencing tape with Harold Yeoman. So, Harold would you like to tell me a little bit about some of the operations that you were on?
HY: I think the ones that stood out in my mind very clearly were the trips we did to Essen which was the, the city where, in the Ruhr Valley in which Krupps Works was based. And that was the arsenal of the Nazi regime. And I did three trips to Essen altogether. Two of which were within twenty four hours which was a pretty horrific experience. We, the first one we got there at 11 o’clock one night and bombed. We think we bombed the primary. Came back again. I’d reported on the way in when we were approaching Essen I thought well there’s two fires going ahead of us. And I looked. We’d got to pick the correct one. And I worked out that we, we should go to the starboard. Pick the right hand one. That was the proper target. So we did that. When we got back we found that most people had bombed the wrong target which was the left hand fire which was further up the Ruhr Valley. Which was probably no bad thing but it wasn’t what we, the powers that be had said we had to get. So we, we discussed this over breakfast time the next morning and thought well that’s just too bad. We’ll, you know sometime we might get back there. And we thought we were going to have the day off today. Went up to the crew room and found that briefing was at 3 o’clock. So we went back to the, went to the crew room. We got briefed for Essen again and we had to be there by 11 o’clock that night. So that was twice within twenty four hours. And Essen was about the worst target in Germany apart from Berlin which I’d luckily never got to. And we were there within twenty four hours and got away unscathed apart from a few little minor holes. But we lost our own commanding officer on the second raid, Wing Commander Golding, who was a very nice chap. And a Canadian pilot whom I’d come with from Canada on the ship. Met on the ship and we became friends. Flight Sergeant Lowe. He was lost that night too. So we lost two in one night from, from 12 Squadron. Which was a bad blow but that was the thing that happened. That was the way it went. You just had to live with it and get on with it.
PL: And was the target destroyed in that instance?
HY: Well, we never, we never really knew until much later on because the only way we could find out was the, if they sent the, we just called it the PRU Photographic Reconnaissance Unit. They were unarmed Spitfires who went over at about forty thousand feet and took pictures and came back with the photos of the, the target you’d been to. But quite often we didn’t get to know. Occasionally we did, but that was very occasionally. The only, the only place we got to know first-hand was a, really it was an amazing briefing. Really. We’d never imagined that we’d ever get a target which was inside the city of Paris which was declared, virtually declared to be an open city which hadn’t to be attacked, bombed or hadn’t to knock a brick down. But we had a target of the Renault factory and that was in the, the southwest central of the city. The suburb of Billancourt. It was a night attack as all our raids were. They were all night. We didn’t do any daylight raids thank goodness otherwise the casualties would probably have been much heavier, probably Including myself. But this was a night raid and it was at low level which was an unaccustomed thing. We used to be at as high as possible. Usually eighteen thousand to twenty thousand feet was what we aimed at. We usually got that. Sometimes we got a little bit higher than twenty thousand feet but not much. It was a high rate of climb. Anyhow, the Renault factory had to be attacked at low level and it was going to be marked by, and it was marked by flares. A whole lot of flares which were laid by Stirlings which carried a big load. They were four-engined, and they carried quite a huge load. And the Stirlings kept the target marked by means of two rows, parallel rows of flares on either side of the target. All we had to do was find the flares. Fly up the corridor and find the target and drop your bombs and come away. And the opposition was absolutely nil. There was not a gun within range of us. There was one gun firing in Paris. In the, away to the east and it was firing tracer in to the air. At what we never knew. We didn’t care. It was so funny. We were just laughing our heads off at that. They were shooting at nothing and we were at the other side of the city. And we got absolutely no opposition. It was just like taking cake from a baby as they say. So we bombed at about twenty five hundred feet instead of twenty thousand five hundred. We were two thousand five hundred. The height you bombed at was limited by the highest capacity of the bomb that you carried. If you were carrying a four thousand pounder your minimum height was four thousand feet. If you were carrying a one thousand pounder that was your biggest one you could go down as low as a thousand feet. So we split the difference and bombed at two thousand five hundred. And as I say it was, it was just like walking down the street at home. Quite easy. And the target was put out of action for — I think it was nine months. Completely. It was. I’ve seen photos of it. I’ve got them in a book somewhere. And it was absolutely devastated. Unfortunately, we couldn’t help it of course, there was overshoot and undershoot and we killed two or three hundred French civilians. Which was regrettable but we got the message through to say, from the French Resistance to say that how much damage had been done and how many people were killed and said well it’s, that was war. And they were not happy to accept it but they accepted it as one of the risks of war. So these poor French people they paid the price of slight inaccuracies in bombing. Because you dropped your stick of bombs you couldn’t guarantee that every single one was going to hit the target. If you had a, you sometimes carried fourteen two hundred and fifty pound bombs. If you were dropping a stick of fourteen bombs and you were flying at a hundred and eighty miles an hour. Well you can calculate how far apart they were going to be. So if two or three hit the target that was great and the rest were overshoots and undershoots. So that’s about it.
PL: So did you know what was being made at the Renault factory? I mean —
HY: Yes. They were making wheeled vehicles of all sorts for the Germans obviously and to be used on the Russian front. And the Russians were, in those days were our great friends and allies. Supposed to be until we learned differently. There was only one thing they were, they are interested in, or were interested in, that was the Russians. They couldn’t care less about anybody else. Allies or not. But we didn’t know that at the time. Uncle Joe was Uncle Joe and he was great friends, you know. We were all pals together. So we were helping the Russians which we thought was a great thing. That’s what they were doing. Making wheeled vehicles for the Germans to use along the Eastern Front. And as I say production was completely stopped for about eight or nine months. Which is as much as you can expect.
PL: So were there any other raids that you remember Harry that, Harold, that you’d like to talk about?
HY: Well, the, the last one I did was to Cologne which was, I believe the last raid or the last but one before the thousand bomber raid in May of 1942. And that was the last trip I did to, to Cologne which was a brilliant moonlit night. It was a wonderful night really and the target was quite easy to find. We were routed to find the Rhine and we, once we found the Rhine and we flew down it and until we got Cologne in the sights and that was it. That was it. It was quite an easy, an easy one to find. And the trips to Essen were quite hair raising. They were very, very fraught because the opposition was so fierce. I mean it was, there were very few night fighters in those days. I only ever saw two and we got out of there quite smartly but the anti-aircraft fire was intense. And when you’re being shelled by heavy anti-aircraft shells and they’re bombing, they were bursting not very far away from me. You knew all about it. It’s a pretty horrifying experience. It’s one which I wish I [pause] it comes back to me now and again with great clarity. [pause] So that’s about all. Well, as I say at the end of a talk. Any questions?
PL: So, your, your — before you were grounded what was your last, your last trip out before you were grounded?
HY: My last what?
PL: Your last flight out before you were grounded.
HY: That was to Cologne.
PL: That was the Cologne one.
HY: Yeah. That was number fourteen I think. That was my fourteenth trip. And as I say I was being air sick. It started when, when I went to the Paris raid. That was the sixth or seventh trip. That’s when I started having this airsickness and it went on all the rest of the time despite the MOs pills. He said, ‘Well, this can’t go on. We’ll have to stop you flying.’ So, as I say I went to Headquarters 1 Group just as a supernumerary admin officer. I was given six months non-operational flying by the, a medical board in London. And [pause] I was ferrying. That was it. I went on to ferrying from, picking up brand new Wellingtons from a place called Kemble near Cirencester and flying them to Moreton in the Marsh where I was based which was an OTU for pupils who were going to North Africa to join the Desert Air Force. And we picked up, they would ring up in the morning and say, ‘We’ve got —’ one, two, three, maybe four, ‘New aircraft. Come and collect them.’ So the CO would say, ‘Right. You. You. You. Get in the, get in the Anson.’ Be flown up to Kemble and you would say, ‘Well, which one’s mine?’ ‘Oh, that one over there.’ You’d go there. The ground crew would be standing around, they’d say, ‘Would you just sign that,’ and give you a piece of paper. Signing for one brand new Wellington. And you’d get in on your own and just start it up and taxi out and fly back to Moreton in the Marsh and land. And signal. You used signal for transport. We had no radio. We were on our own. It was only a forty mile ride I think. Something like that. And we’d get to Moreton, I’d get to Moreton and signal for transport by pushing the throttles up and down a couple of times to full revs and that told them that you were overhead. You needed something to bring you back to the, back to the flight office.
PL: So were they, were they limited, was there limited equipment in them at that stage?
HY: No. They were fully operational.
PL: Right.
HY: And what —
PL: Apart from the radios.
HY: Well, the radio was there but you were flying. You couldn’t use it. You couldn’t turn it on or off or change the frequency or anything. You just ignored it. But they were handed over to trainee crews at this, this OTU who took the aircraft over and did a certain number of cross-country’s with it and they flew them out to North Africa. That was their first really long flight and it was a long flight. They flew to, from Moreton in the Marsh to Portreath in Cornwall I think. An aerodrome there. From Portreath they flew to Gibraltar. And from Gibraltar to Malta. From Malta to North Africa. And that was the chain that we were part of. Handing these brand new machines over to pupils who flew to North Africa with them.
PL: So Harold is there anything else about your wartime experiences that you’d like to share that perhaps aren’t necessarily to do with operations?
HY: Well, the thing is I still miss is being surrounded by people in uniform. I miss that very much indeed. Even to this day. It comes back to me very clearly at times. I wish there was a crowd of uniforms around me that I could just have a chat to. But incidentally I haven’t mentioned this but when I was sent in to intelligence at Linton on Ouse, the second or third morning I was there. Sat down at the desk. Desk here, telephone there, telephone there and another officer, intelligence office on my left waiting for the, a target to come through. And we had WAAF watchkeepers who act as, virtually they were virtually secret telephone operators. They dealt with all the secret traffic over the telephones can’t you. The second or third morning a WAAFs corporal came in, sat down. I thought I like the look of her. She looks very nice. And finished up dating her. Well, I didn’t date her. I went on a blind date. Somebody arranged a blind date. The girl who arranged it, the WAAF who arranged it said, ‘Would you like to come along?’ I said, ‘Yes. I’ll come along. Where are you going?’ ‘Oh, we’re going to the pub in — ’ not Doncaster. It was a town near Doncaster. Yes. I’ll come along. Who am I taking?’ She said, ‘Oh we’ll find someone very nice for you.’ And it was this WAAF watchkeeper, the corporal watchkeeper and we got on like a house on fire. We chatted away and came back together and I finished up marrying her years later. And that’s her on the mantelpiece.
PL: What a lovely story. So when did you marry?
HY: Well, I, we agreed not to get married until after the war. So I met her in — when was it? 1943 or ‘4.
PL: And how old were you then?
HY: Oh, in, well 1943 I’d be twenty two. And we got married in 1947. Yeah. I got demobbed in ’46 and by the time we got accommodation, that was the big problem, post-war accommodation. My parents and I had to search around here for it and eventually we got a couple of rooms near to where Bill lives now. And we then got, I told Joan that I’d found this and would she like to come up and have a look. So we had a look at them and she said, ‘Yeah. That’s ok.’ I think they weren’t very much. But we got married then. In Guildford where her aunt lived. Her aunt gave us a wedding present as a, got us married and reception etcetera. And I was married at Guildford. We settled down up here. But her home was in Worthing which was a long way but we used to go there on holiday. Spend half the holiday here and half down in Worthing.
PL: So you were demobbed in 1946 and you must have come out of the war thinking, what do I do now?
HY: No. Well I went back to my, my job.
PL: What happened next?
HY: Just, not far from here. A couple of hundred yards from here. I’d been an assistant at the time. Not an inspector. And I went back and just started to study and qualified as a weights and measures inspector and worked, as I say about three hundred yards from where we’re sitting in now. That’s where I met Bill.
PL: And then you’ve had, and that’s where you worked for the rest of your career.
HY: Yes. Yes.
PL: Just stopping the tape again.
[recording paused]
HY: After I was —
PL: Restarting the tape. Sorry Harold.
HY: Yes. After I was grounded my crew continued to fly. They did, I think it was one trip to Hamburg which was a successful one. They got back ok. They did the next trip to Essen. Again that was the bogey target. And they didn’t come back. And they’ve never been found. I’ve made enquiries from the RAF Museum. The RAF Museum at Hendon. And I’ve been over to Amsterdam. Got in touch with the people there who were very interested in RAF history as they used to hear us going over every night as it were. And see if they could do anything to trace them. They put me in touch with, with two people by letter and I’ve been in touch with them to see if there was any possibility of finding out what happened to my crew. But nobody knows anything. They just, they just went missing and they never came back. So all I can assume is that they were damaged in some way and they went down in the North Sea. And that’s the end of that story. No more I can do about it.
PL: You were going to tell me another story about coming back from the French coast, was it? And you saw some lights in the sky.
HY: Oh the glow. Yeah. The single glow. Yeah. When we were going, on the way to Paris we were quite low and just as we crossed the coast I saw a single light ahead. I reported this to the skipper who was flying it. I said, ‘Look. There’s a, I think there’s a fighter ahead. One. It’s a single engine.’ He, he’d got his eye on it and he said, ‘Yeah. I think it is too.’ So we flew on for a bit. I said, ‘We’re not losing him. He’s going the same direction as us.’ So he said, ‘Well, ok. Let’s alter course a bit.’ So we altered course to try and get out of his way and then resumed flying and he was, the glow was still there. In a couple of minutes I said, ‘Do you know that it is?’ I said, ‘That’s the target.’ And we could see the target burning virtually from the French coast. This was the one I’ve told you about. The Renault factory. I said, ‘That’s the,’ so and so, ‘Target. Just aim for that.’ So we just, we just went for that and it was. It got bigger and bigger and bigger. And we got there and we found the whole place was in flames. It was quite, quite an experience. I’d forgotten about that.
PL: Good heavens. And then just another thing we’ve talked about. When you were — leaping all the way back to Penang, you had an experience there where you were involved with a court case.
HY: Yes.
PL: With a local.
HY: Yes. A message came through to my CO. I was his adjutant then. And it came through and he came to me. He said, ‘Look they had the Judge Advocate General’s Department on the phone through our headquarters and they want three officers to sit on a court to try a local man who has been collaborating with the Japanese.’ And he said, ‘They want [pause] they want an army officer,’ who was in charge, a major who was in charge. ‘They want an army captain and they want an RAF officer,’ And he said, ‘You’re it.’ He said, ‘You’re sitting on the court case.’ So. It lasted about a fortnight. We sat there every day. We had to take it all down in longhand. Everything that was said. My hands at the finish were just absolutely useless. We tried this collaborator who was a chap called Carlile da Silva. He was Eurasian and he’d been collaborating with the Japanese and giving them information as to who the English sympathisers were and they’d be sorted out and taken away and tortured and killed and goodness knows what. And he had a very bad history like that. And of course after the war his number was virtually up because people came to us and said, ‘Hey. Get hold of Carlisle de Silva. He’s the man who was betraying you to the Japs.’ So he was arrested and put on trial. And it was very interesting, the trial. They got all the evidence from the various witnesses as to the connections with him. What had happened. What had happened to them. And we had to have, I think it was three interpreters because the, while the locals on by and large spoke some English, some of them very good English but the witnesses were sort of ordinary, ordinary Penang citizens. And some were Indian, some were Chinese and some were Malays. And we had to have interpreters for the three different. In fact the Chinese had two interpreters because some spoke Mandarin and some spoke, most of them spoke Hokkien which was the North China dialect. The North Chinese dialect. So, we had to have four interpreters to interpret the, what they were saying. Or interpret the questions to them and they would answer in their language and that would be interpreted back into English to us and we’d take it all down. And as I say the trial lasted about a fortnight and eventually we found him guilty and he was sentenced to a certain number of years of rigorous hard labour. Which I’m told involved picking up heavy stones and carrying them about twenty yards. Putting them down. Then picking them up again and carrying them back. Until they dropped with fatigue. That was the rigorous hard labour. No more than he deserved because most of them deserved to be put up against the wall but that wasn’t on the cards. But it was, that was an interesting experience being, there was a Major Blacklock I think was the chairman and there was myself and an army captain. The last morning I was a bit disturbed when I, when we were all the three of us came in and sat down on this dais with a desk and the public were admitted to all the proceedings. It was all open. And the last morning when we were going to pronounce sentence and telling him what was going to happen to him the door opened at the back and four or five locals came in and I just didn’t like the look of them. I thought they were pals of the defendant. They were going to probably throw a bomb or a hand grenade or something. So I reported it to the, the major, I said, ‘Look. I don’t like the look of those bods who’ve just came through the door, I said, ‘Can you do something about them?’ So he said, ‘Oh yeah. We’ll see to that.’ So he just got on the phone and the next thing we got a few military policemen came in and just gave them the once over and they were ok actually. They were just local civilians who, who had attended but they had a very suspicious look about them to me. So Carlisle de Silva got eight to ten years rigorous hard labour. Lucky to get away with it I think. But we couldn’t —
PL: Did you ever hear what happened to him after that? Did he survive —
HY: No idea.
PL: The —
HY: No. No idea. He just, it was published in the local paper. In the Penang Times Herald I think it was. I think I’ve got the cutting somewhere. All colourful stuff.
PL: Which leads us neatly to —
HY: Pardon?
PL: Which leads us neatly to your story about the filming of, “The Wooden Horse.”
HY: Oh yes. The local newsagent had an assistant then. A girl assistant. And I used to go in there quite frequently to get a newspaper, magazines or whatever. We became quite friendly and she knew, she was interested in in RAF wartime activities. And do you know I had long, long talks to her. She came here, had a cup of coffee. And when I watched, I watched a film on the box called, I think it was, “The Wooden Horse,” and to my astonishment one of the characters was my own flight commander from 12 Squadron and he was playing the part of the adjutant of a particular unit. And he was completely recognisable. I recognised him instantly. I said, ‘Oh that’s Squadron Leader Abraham.’ So I told this girl who had a very knowledgeable friend about film matters and he was a film photographer himself and he knew all about taking stills of programmes. So he got the still I made I got for her to tell her all about it. And she came and had a look at the, at the recording I had made and she said, ‘Oh, I can get, get a still made of Squadron Leader Abraham’s picture.’ So she did and I’ve got that on the wall behind me. So I’ve got my own flight commander in the room as it were.
PL: Did you ever find out how he got involved with that?
HY: Pardon?
PL: Did you ever find out how he got involved?
HY: No. I didn’t actually. He did change his name from Abraham to Ward apparently. I got to know that through a fellow survivor who I was very friendly with on the squadron who unfortunately lived in Kent. I’ve only seen him twice since the war. But we always talked about, you know the B Flight at Binbrook and Squadron Leader Abraham. He told me that he had a rich relative, an aunt I think who said she would leave him quite a lot of money as long as he changed his name to hers. And he changed his name to Ward. So he became Squadron Leader Ward. But he was from, I think it was Kidderminster. I never saw him after the war at all but I met this friend of mine from B Flight. He was an observer in, in Abraham’s crew actually. Eric [Foynet?] I met, met him a couple of times or three times since the war, in London and I’ve lost touch with him now. I think he must have died. He was a bit older than me. But a very good friend of him. And that’s about it.
PL: Well, Harold, thank you so much for sharing your fascinating stories with us.
HY: I’m glad you found it so. It was quite ordinary to me but obviously to someone else it might be more interesting than I found it.
PL: Extraordinary. Thank you very much indeed.
HY: Oh, you’re very very welcome. I’m glad to have been of help.
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AYeomanHT161013
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Interview with Harold Yeoman
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Sound
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eng
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01:11:49 audio recording
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Pam Locker
Date
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2016-10-13
Description
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Harold Yeoman volunteered for the RAF hoping to become an air gunner and was surprised to find he would be trained as a pilot. He describes a crash landing in a Wellington returning from an operation to Cherbourg and being sent to Essen twice within twenty four hours. After several operations with 12 Squadron he was removed from operational flying due to air sickness and became a ferry pilot. His original crew went on to do more operations without him before they were lost.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Canada
France
Germany
Great Britain
India
England--Lincolnshire
England--Suffolk
England--Yorkshire
France--Paris
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Essen
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
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1940-12-24
1942
1943
1944
12 Squadron
76 Squadron
78 Squadron
90 Squadron
aircrew
bombing
crash
crewing up
Flying Training School
ground personnel
Harvard
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
love and romance
medical officer
Operational Training Unit
perception of bombing war
pilot
promotion
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Kemble
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Sywell
RAF Torquay
RAF Tuddenham
recruitment
sport
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/369/6115/AHicksDK151103.2.mp3
8f3b62f9200c69a23551ea40528cc813
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Hicks, Ken
Ken Hicks
D K Hicks
Description
An account of the resource
61 items. An oral history interview with Chief Technician David Kennedy Hicks (b. 1922, 0574954 Royal Air force), memories of the Battle of Britain, his Royal Air Force record, and photographs of his Halton entry, his time in Southern Rhodesia and 56 photographs, many of his time in Southern Africa. Ken Hicks joined the Royal Air Force in 1938 as a Halton apprentice. He served with 202 Squadron at RAF Hornchurch during the Battle of Britain as an aircraft rigger. Subsequently he served on training unit in Southern Rhodesia and then in Egypt, staying in the Royal Air Force after the war.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Ken Hicks and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-03
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Hicks, DK
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed audio recording
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CB: Right. My name is Chris Brockbank and I’m here to talk with Ken Hicks on the 3rd of November 2015 about his experiences in World War Two but if you’d like to start please Ken with your earliest recollections and then just go through your life in sequence please.
KH: To start with, my father, a coal miner down in Wales and when I was fifteen he said to me, ‘Lad you’re not going down the pit. I want you to learn a trade. I want you to go to see the headmaster and join the royal aircraft as an aircraft apprentice.’ I went and saw the headmaster and he said, ‘There’s no one been up from this school. The curriculum doesn’t cover it.’ But my old man went down and thumped the table. And he said ok and he sent for the exam paper and I sat in his office in his chair and I had one hour and I answered all the questions and he came in and he said, ‘Put your pen down.’ So I had just I just worked out the last answer so I jotted that down and he went bananas. ‘When I say put the pen down put the pen down.’ So he put it in a big brown envelope and he said, ‘Lick that,’ and I licked it. And he got hold of me by the ear and said, ‘Come on. I want to see you post it.’ So I posted it. I passed. He had me up in front of the school, tapping my head saying, ‘There’s a clever boy. I want all you boys to try this examination now.’ So I learned a lot about humanity [laughs]. So off I went to RAF Halton as a civilian lad of sixteen. Never been out of the Welsh valley even alone Wales on a train up to London. We got, we got to London and all the apprentices were sort of gathering there on the last train to Wendover and we all straggled up to, up to the camp. Not marched. And I was very impressed. I would, became a member of B Squadron. Two Wing Aircraft Apprentice RAF Halton. There was over a thousand boys in our entry and it was quite an eye opener but I adapted very well. My education wasn’t all that clever so I wasn’t one of the brainy blokes. I never became a snag — a corporal apprentice, or a sergeant apprentice [laughs]. I was still an AA. I got a three year training course but the war broke out 1939 and they cut it down to two years. Cut out a lot of sport and concentrated on teaching us. We marched down to schools, we marched down to the workshops and we marched down to the airfield for the aircraft training. We were training on Hawker Harts and Demons drilling, rigging. Stripping them down. Building them up. And an old Hampden there as the bomber side of it. I passed out in June 1940 and posted to 222 Squadron which was based at Kirton Lindsey, Lincoln at the time. And I’d only been there a week and beginning to settle down when we moved down to Hornchurch which moved straight into the Battle of Britain which commenced then and with two Spitfire squadrons at Hornchurch — 222 and I think it’s 603 City of Glasgow Spitfire squadron. I worked with a LAC 1GC who called me a sprog and I soon picked up we were repairing bullet holes in Spitfires. Filing around. If they, if they weren’t too bad we put a fabric patch on them. Anything to keep the aeroplane flying. Or we had to rivet two small riveting patches. I fitted in well with the, with the airman. We worked until the aircraft was serviceable. Sometimes gone midnight. We lost thirty seven pilots in that three months on my squadron and I wasn’t, I didn’t realise what was happening up there in the sky above us. The Germans were bombing our airfields and the Dorniers were coming across at about six thousand feet and mounds of earth — bombs were dropping and they were trying to – the grass airfields and they were trying to obliterate the RAF camps altogether. Bombs on the airfield. We had civilians out there with shovels filling in the bomb holes. They were bombing our hangars. And I was in the bath one night, 10 o’clock, when a bomb landed right outside the building and blew all the glass from the door into the bath with me and plaster. I reached over for my towel and that was covered in bits of glass. So I turned the duckboard upside down and stood on that. It was pitch dark. Half the block had been knocked down so the next night they moved us over to a round nissen hut the other side of the airfield and we were all in bed and about 1 o’clock in the morning a landmine which had come down went off and blew the roof right off our head. This corrugated roof. And we were all shouting at each other in our beds. Everybody. ‘Everybody alright.’ So we said we were alright and nobody hurt so we went back to sleep looking up at the stars. So that was a good opening. [pause] Where were we?
CB: We’re going to have a break for a mo.
[Recording paused]
CB: Ok. So you’ve lost the roof.
KH: Yeah.
CB: And what happened next day?
KH: The next day I had to go with the corporal. Corporal airframe fitter. I was, I was an airframe fitter. A land rover down, one of our Spitfires had landed down in Kent. In Manston. So we had to go down there and repair it. On the way down through the Kentish fields all the fields that were unharvested at that time of the year and they were all burning. Flames going across the road as we were driving along. I don’t know if that was a ploy to destroy the harvest or what but anyway we got to this Manston. Manston was a place heavily bombed. Anything left, any bombs left, any bombs left going back to Germany they picked Manston out and dropped them there. So there was no one on the station except a skeleton staff but we had a billet and there was, there was an emergency cook laid on for meals and we got to the Spitfire which had bent a prop and a pitot head and the corporal fitter in charge he changed the prop and I had to help him. There was no one on the station so we helped ourselves in the empty yard and anywhere else for equipment and stuff. We worked in the middle of the airfield. There was also a lorry there full of civilian workers. They were shovelling and filling in the bomb holes trying to put the airfield back in to some sort of serviceability state and one of them was binoculars scouring the skies. He was lookout and when he blew the whistle they all dropped their shovels, jumped in the truck and tore off the airfield. So we soon twigged it and when they went off the airfield we went off as well [laughs]. We dropped our tools and went off as well. So we fixed this Spitfire and the pilot came down in an Anson, dropped him off and he took off and flew it back to Hornchurch and then we got home and that was my first introduction to the war as it were. What was happening? Stop.
CB: Ok.
[Recording paused]
CB: Ok Ken can we just talk about what was your role as a rigger? What did you actually do in your job?
KH: As an airframe fitter I’d done the basic training and trained on older type of aircraft but now I was on a Spitfire which I’d never seen before in my life and didn’t know. Hadn’t done any training on it but I was given, I was told to work with an LAC 1GC airframe fitter who knew the ropes and he had to sort of teach me. So any riveting he was riveting that side and I held the block on this side sort of thing. So we were doing patches on the skins and things like that. Change undercart. Change the wheels. Tyre bay. How to use, how to use the tyre levers to change those, get those tyres off. Things like that. They were all practical work which I’d never done before and everything we did I learned. I learned more all the time. We had to learn the hydraulic system, the pneumatic system, the electrical system, anti-freeze system and even spraying. We had to spray and paint the camouflage back on the aircraft. And another role came out. We had to paint the underneath of the Spitfires a duck egg, duck egg blue, a light duck egg blue. So there we were lying on the hangar floor with a twelve inch, two inch paint brush painting the underside of a Spitfire. And we had to do the whole squadron. We’d got a mat to lie on on the hard concrete floor. That took us about a week to do the squadron. I can’t remember other things which I did because it was a long time ago.
CB: What about the flying controls which were wire operated?
KH: Well they were alright but I I had to do some splicing and I got a wire out and made a measurement and got a new wire from stores and spliced in the buckle on both ends. That’s seven and a half tucks on the splicing and then, and then fit it, wire, pull it back through with the string and connect it up. Tension the turn buckle to get it all right. And then the aircraft used to go out then on air test. On one occasion I was working in a hangar and apparently a Spitfire had come over from dispersal. They disbursed the Spits instead of having them in one place and be a target for a bomb they disbursed the other side of the airfield all over the place. Well this one came over and stopped in between the hangars and the chaps coming back from lunch, dinnertime thought it was the next Spitfire to be done so they pushed it into the hangar but this one was armed and nobody knew about it. They came back from dinner and I was down just about opening my toolbox underneath the wing of this aircraft when an instrument basher had got into this aircraft he’d shoved in to check his instruments and he pressed the firing button for some reason and all of a sudden four machine guns blasting. Blasting the hangar wall with the armour piercing tracer bullets flying around all over the place. Quite a long burst. And I was crouching down behind my tool box and I thought [laughs] well it’s a bit dodgy this is. [laughs] Lots of things happened when we were working there. Every now and again we had to drop — drop our tools and run for the air raid shelter and get down there fast. I was down the air raid shelter one day and I was about the last one in I think ‘cause I was near the entrance and I heard an aircraft taxiing off so I l had a look out and there was a Hurricane had come in. It was taxiing around. There was nobody about. We were all down the air raid shelter. And the pilot was waving so I ran out, crossed and jumped on to the wing and it was, it was a Polish pilot and he wanted to know what airfield he’d landed on. He had a map on his knee which showed him more or less the east coast so I turned it over and I pointed out where we were. Hornchurch. Hornchurch. And he had a look around and I knew the Poles were over at, over the other side of London so I said to him, ‘Balloon barrage. Fly over the top.’ ‘Oh yah yah,’ he said, you know and off he went. I hope he got back alright. There were quite a few instances but when you’re young and you’re new to the game you learn pretty fast. You make mates but the Air Ministry post you as numbers and you just get a serviceable team going nicely and you’re posted overseas invariably. Never to, never to see each other again. So you don’t make friends too long in the air force. They come and go fast. Some are posted to the desert. Some are posted to Iceland to the snow. Some are posted up the Far East. I was on the boat. Went down to Uxbridge got my KD and [torpee?] Up to Liverpool. Got on a troop ship RMS Scythia. Hammocks. No bunks. Out in a fifty two boat convoy. Left the Clyde, staggered course, escorted by destroyers and one battleship. Out in to the North Atlantic. I heard depth charges going off. The destroyers were chasing the subs which were after the convoy. Apparently, we heard that they did get one. One of our troop ships. We came down towards the equator and on the day we crossed the equator I had my nineteenth birthday. Crossing the equator going down south on a staggered course. Then we headed west, west again to Freetown. Out into the Atlantic and down the South Atlantic to Cape Town. Mostly army bods on board. They were going around, they were going around up to the Suez Canal, Cairo and they were tackling Rommel in North Africa. But the twenty eight names of the RAF were shouted out. ‘Get your kit off the boat. Get on that train.’ The train set off up for a day and a half and we knew there wasn’t a river line going all the way to Cairo which we thought we were going there. And we came to Salisbury Rhodesia and I was posted to mount, RAF Mount Hampden. There were three stations around Salisbury. One was Tiger Moths, one was Harvards for training fighters and one was Oxfords training bombers and I was posted to Mount Hampden — Tiger Moths. We got there. We were advanced party. Twenty eight men in an advanced party. All trades. And we were setting up, setting it up it. Getting it prepared. The entry arrived on a train from the [wool?] station. Corrugated sink, roofs. Billets with mosquito net windows and doors. Storm ditches. And we soon settled down. Guards. Guard duty. I don’t know what we were guarding from. The natives weren’t, we could hear their jungle drums going all night when they’d had some Kafa beer down them from the village and that was about all. We had no problems from the outside but we still had to do guards. We were assembling aircraft out of packing cases. Tiger Moths. And we kept doing that until we got, we got about forty and they were doing circuits and bumps training pilots and one time there were four prangs on the airfield at the same time. One had landed heavy. Busted his undercart. Another one had landed, watching him, landed on top of another one and they both turned over like that. Upside down. And then another one crash landed and we had a big sign on the hangar wall, “You bend them, we mend them.” When we finished in the aircraft I had to go flying with the pilot on a test flight to test the aircraft before they handed over on to flying training. Loops and rolls and spins. So I used to put my parachute on and pull the straps tight and practice grabbing the, grabbing the rip cord to open the ‘chute. I always wanted to bale out. We were up there flying one day doing aerobatics and the aircraft, the engine cut so I thought, ah. So I shouted down the tube, ‘Can I bale out? ’ He said, ‘No. I can see a clearing in the jungle down there. So I thought oh. So we landed in this clearing. It was about four foot high grass stuff and we hit a termite hill which whipped the undercart off, dug our nose in and slammed us over on our back upside down. So I undid slowly on to the back of my neck, wriggled out and it didn’t catch fire. And that was at half past six in the morning. When the sun got up there it gets up to a hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty in the shade in the summertime. We had no food. No water. And the pilot said, ‘I can hear, I heard a lion roaring.’ Well there were lions around that area. I thought well we can’t leave the aircraft ‘cause they’ll never find us. So we were lumbered. We were stuck. Mid-day a Moth flew over, spotted us, waggled his wings and flew back and told them where we were. At about five o’clock a three tonner came through the jungle with Chiefy and a couple of bods and brought us food and water. Our Chiefy had a look at the aircraft. It had broken its back, it had broken its spruce bars and the wings had gone. This, that and the other. And I was watching him. He took his pipe out and he put his tobacco in. He struck a match and he took a couple of puffs and he went over and he threw the lit match down where the petrol was and up went the petrol and he said to the pilot, he said, ‘When you landed it burned didn’t it? ’ He said. He said it wasn’t worth taking back so (laughs] we went and left it. Yeah. Crumbs.
CB: Do you want a break?
KH: Yeah.
[Recording paused]
CB: So the plane was a write off and caught fire so you went back but this was the sort of aeroplane you were trained on.
KH: Yes. That was no problem. They used to use me a lot because I was trained on aircraft and I could rig, I could rig the Tiger Moth so that there was no — it wasn’t flying left wing low, right wing low and all this that and the other and I used to do the trimming. I used to do any control work on it and I used to go up on air tests and make sure with the pilots that it was perfectly serviceable to hand over to flying training. That was primarily my job.
CB: What rank were you at this stage?
KH: I started off AC1, AC2, LAC.
CB: Right.
KH: I was stuck out in Rhodesia. No promotion for three years. I was doing an essential job training. Training pilots. I trained them in Rhodesia, South Africa and Canada so they were out of the way of the war. And that meant no promotion otherwise everybody would be flight sergeant [laughs] on the station [laughs]. Well there was no promotion at all for three years. One. One. He was a chippy carpenter. He got corporal stripes. He was the only one on the station that got promoted in that three years. The rest of the war was going on. That was more important. They were fighting out in Burma, they were fighting out in the Middle East and they were fighting out everywhere. They were moving around and getting places and getting promoted. They were on squadrons, my trade and the corporal would get killed and they thought they’d make an LAC up. There was promotion going on but not down there where we were on the training so I was still an LAC when I got home after three years. Six, six months I was only home in the UK six months and then I was posted overseas again. Egypt. A boat across the channel, a train down to [Touronne?] living in tents in the flooded water in the heavy rain until, for three days, until we got on a troop ship. Took us across the Med. Called in at Malta and I got rid of stuff there. And we didn’t know where we were going of course and then we saw the lovely blue Mediterranean Sea turning brown and we couldn’t see any land but that was the, that was the river coming down from North Africa.
CB: So this is the Nile Delta.
KH: The Nile. And that was coming out in to the Mediterranean and running and it was still brown full days sailing out from, you know. We came Alexandra. Dropped a few people off there and then we got on a train up to Cairo and we were nodding off on the train, with my head on the woodwork at the side and I started scratching and it was bugs come out of the woodwork and was biting me. I was lumps coming up [laughs] so I thought that’s our entrance to Egypt, you know. And this was the thing which we had to do. First of all it was a PGC Almaza in tents and before we left to go out in the evening into Cairo we used to put everything in our kit bag and lock it on to the tent pole because we’d heard that thieves used to get into the camp and pinch airmen’s equipment. When we came back, the rows of tents, there was a tent missing. They’d come in with a lorry and they’d picked the whole tent up pegs and all and put it in a lorry and drove out and nobody said anything. But ours was alright. Then we were waiting for our postings and we were posted everywhere. Down to, down the coast of Africa, down further down in to Egypt. They were posted up to Palestine. They were posted everywhere from there. Distribution place. And I got, I got Almaza Flying Station itself on Dakotas. So I soon picked that up then. We all had to move out of Egypt then so we all moved out of the Canal Zone. Two hundred mile across the desert to the Canal Zone. There was a great bit of lake half way down. It was Deversoir. Kibrit. Kibrit. Deversoir and 107MU and I was posted to 107MU repairing aircraft. But it was good in one thing. There was nothing to do. We had three yacht clubs on the station on the canal and I joined 107MU Sailing Club. I had put my name down first in a queue and then I was called up after about three weeks to join a club. The first thing I had to was allocate myself to a skipper who used to take me out and teach me how to use a jib. When I’d logged eight hours on the jib I was then free to be picked up by any skipper to go out on the main sail and give it dual instruction. And I found that I had a natural ability which I didn’t know I had and I could sail it pretty good. I learned. We’d got the rule book and I passed. Passed the B Helmsman Certificate and I became — I could take a boat out myself so I could book a boat out and take someone out. So, and every – we stopped – we finished, we started work at a quarter to six in the morning and we finished at one because it got too hot after that. So it was straight down the sailing club and I spent a lot of hours on the lake.
[Phone ringing. Recording paused]
KH: I’ve never done that before. [pause] Yeah. So I genned up on my racing rules and I passed my Helmsman Certificate. I could take a boat out and race. I could race. Compete. And I found I had the natural ability and I was, at the end of the year I was coming in first. I had three. The monthly race I was coming in first.
[Phone ringing. Recording paused]
CB: So, we’ve just paused for the phone. We’ve been talking about after the war in Egypt.
KH: Yeah.
CB: But you came back for six months.
KH: Yeah.
CB: What did you do in that six month period because this was at the end of ‘44?
KH: During that six months I was posted on to a squadron of [pause] of Hunters I think it was and I found out I knew nothing about modern aircraft and I asked and I got, I was away on aircraft instructional courses some lasting a month to various stations. I did three courses altogether and briefed up working on aircraft with the hydraulic systems and pneumatic systems, de-icer systems and all types of operational retraction handling and getting used to modern aircraft.
CB: Were these fighters or bombers or both?
KH: Everything.
CB: Right. And where were you stationed?
KH: Bombers. Transport. I was stationed actually at [paused] at — I don’t —
CB: Well we’ll pick up with it later.
KH: I can’t remember it.
CB: But you were getting up to date on modern aircraft systems.
KH: Yeah. Yeah. I did. You realise that I’d been out in the desert I hadn’t worked on them. But that developed rapidly during the war while I was out there.
CB: So after you finished at 107MU.
KH: Yeah.
CB: What did you do then? So you did sailing in the part time but after you left the MU in Egypt —
KH: Yeah.
CB: Where did you go?
KH: Well let’s see. I was posted to RAF [pause] as an instructor at Cosford. That’s right. RAF Cosford. As an instructor instructing air frames, hydraulic systems on the aircraft. From there the Berlin Airlift started and we were we were taken off to do a three month detachment on to the Berlin airlift so I was out of my first Berlin Airlift and straight into Berlin. Shift work. The aircraft. The Russians had surrounded Berlin and so we had to fly everything in. Food, coal, everything. So one aircraft landing every three minutes right around the clock. Avro Yorks, Hastings. Hastings were carrying fuel. But mainly Dakotas. American Dakotas flying right around the clock in shift work and we had the German labour to offload the aircraft and we had to – I was involved in seeing the aircraft in. Marshalling them, stopping them, putting the chocks there and getting them all in line and when they were emptied the pilot came back from having a cup of tea, got all back in the aircraft and started them up. I had a torch. That’s all. Start one, two, three, four engines or whatever what they were and the same all off. Right around the clock. If there was anything wrong we had to tackle it. We had to check, check the tyres, oil leaks, if there was a cut in the tyre we’d put it serviceable to fly back to base if we thought they wouldn’t make it. We didn’t want them stuck in Berlin. It was tough going and it was January. Snow. Three or four of inches of snow. We kept on flying and I was going from one aircraft to the other in the snow and there was a big pile of snow there. And I give it a kick. I thought, ‘What?’ And there was a dead man underneath it. It was a German labourer unloading the aircraft. He’d walked through a prop which was running under the wing and he didn’t see the prop and chopped him and covered with him snow as it taxied away. It was that bad but we kept it going. It was shift work and we were, we were shattered. The food we were having from the cookhouse was what we were flying in. Dehydrated. Everything was dehydrated potatoes dehydrated. Pomme. Dehydrated peas. Dehydrated powdered stuff and we weren’t getting good food at all. For Christmas Day we had one whole orange each. That was a treat. That was the toughest part I’ve ever been in I think. That Berlin Airlift. And the station commander wasn’t satisfied when he walked around our billets because we were doing shift work. We were piling out of bed and getting to work six o’clock in the morning. Leave our, leave our bed made down and that wasn’t good enough. All beds had to be made up. This that and the other. And everybody was put on a charge and we were all given a reprimand. A block punishment. [laughs] But I used to get time off. I was chatting up, my mate and I chatting up a couple of deutsche bints as we called them. [laughs] Yeah. It was alright. Anyway, we were back, back at Bassingbourn which was our base then. On Avro Yorks. Working on Yorks and they put me, when I got back to Bassingbourn, the warrant officer in charge says, ‘You’re a married man. I want you to go to the R&D section,’ receive and despatch section in charge of ten WAAFs. ‘I want a married man to look after them.’ So I went over to the edge of a hangar there was a section and they were sort of changing the white covers over the back of the seats in the aircraft and the airmen I had were doing the fitting of the seats. Taking them out and stacking them on a tractor and a trailer and we used to, an aircraft, a York used to come in, different rolls. Some had a roller. Some had lashing chains. Some had power seats. Some had VIP seats and all these had to be handled. And strip the aircraft and hand it over for it to do the servicing. Into maintenance and then fit them all back in afterwards so it was quite a busy operation and variation and they were all airmen and WAAFs and I was a corporal put in charge of them [laughs] and the first day I knocked off at 5 o’clock. They all left the section and I locked the hangar. Locked the section up which was a steel door. I was going to lock it and one of the WAAFs had come back, had got hold of me and pinned me against a wall. Grabbed a handful. So I thought, Jones, her name was. Bloody thing. So I talked her out of that one. I thought I’ve got to handle these buggers myself now [laughs]. So it was quite a struggle too because some of the airmen were a bit bolshie. They were, they all had demob numbers. They all wanted to get out, get out of the mob. That happened to start with down when I was down in Egypt. I had a, I had a team, servicing team. I was in charge of two aircraft servicing teams and every now and again a demob number would come up and I’d lose a man, lose another man, and lose a man – no replacements. Getting less and less and we had I was training two natives. Two Egyptian natives to do some of the work. Some of the rigging and fitting work. Just the donkey work stuff. And I thought well this is no good. We had fifteen Dakotas there servicing on the line. And then, and Chiefy says, ‘You’ll have to take that Dakota there he said, get in it, get somebody to start it up, pull the trolley acc away and taxi it yourself out into the desert as far as you can. Switch your engines off, get out and shut the door and walk back here.’ And that’s what I had to do. All these Dakotas. The war had finished. The Yanks didn’t want the Dakotas back. Nobody wanted them so took them out in the desert and left them there. And the third day I was going out, I taxied out and there was another one of them starting up so I went over. There was a truck there. It was Israelis there from Israel. They come down starting up to tax, taxiing to the runway and flying them back to Israel. [laughs]. So all I was doing was helping the bloody Israelis out [laughs] nicking all our Dakotas. Well they were supposed to be but they were perfectly alright. We were working all that time to get them serviceable. Cor flipping heck. But I soon adapted to that.
CB: So that was in your desert time. We were just having a reflection there. So back to Bassingbourn.
KH: Bassingbourn.
CB: Were you losing people to demob there as well?
KH: Yes. All the time.
CB: We’re on National Service now of course.
KH: Yeah.
CB: Because we’re on 1948.
KH: Yeah. Yeah it was. It got difficult then. What did I do? I went on courses. Bassingbourn. [pause] Cosford as instructor. Yeah. Married. Yeah Bassingbourn. Airlift.
CB: So Bassingbourn had Yorks.
KH: Yeah.
CB: And then did you keep on that aircraft or did you go to something quite different somewhere else?
KH: Oh no. I’m trying to think what happened then.
CB: We’ll take a —
KH: Oh yeah
CB: Sorry.
KH: I got quite fed up then and I was – what was it? I was at Abingdon. No. I was in digs in Reading. I was married. Digs in reading. I was on a motorbike back and forth to Abingdon. Working RAF Abingdon on Yorks and I was passing Benson and I was chatting to in bloke in Wallingford, a RAF chap from Benson. He said there’s a Queen’s Flight, Benson, King’s Flight at Benson then and he says, ‘Why don’t you come to Benson, you know, instead of going back and forth to Reading all the time.’ Reading to Abingdon. So I went to the orderly room and I I asked if I could be posted and I filled in a form and then I was posted to a Kings Flight. Well I was sent over there for interview. I arrived at a guardroom and I was escorted down to the hangar and up to the warrant officer in charge and I was interviewed and then he took me through to the flight lieutenant who happened to be in my entry. Thirty eighth entry at Halton. He was one of the brainy ones. He got, he got a technical commission and so he says, he says, ‘Right,’ you know, ‘We’ll have you.’ So I was posted to the Kings Flight. I applied for married quarters and I got it. 11 Spitfire Square and and everything was fine. Then it was the Queen’s Flight. The Queen’s Flight [pause]. Two children born there. Halton Hospital. Yeah. I enjoyed my stay there. I did so well when I left and yeah, I got the Royal Victoria Medal presented to me when I left. I was in Germany and I was sent, I was sent down to Bonn where a group captain was dishing out medals and I was presented with the RVM for being on the Queen’s Flight. For the good work I’d done there. I was working on Swift, Swift aircraft. There was only two squadrons of Swifts made. 2 Squadron down on Aden. I was on 79 Squadron and Chief Tech Airframe and nobody knew anything about these bloody aeroplanes. And I reckon I did some good work on them. The warrant officer relied on me for everything. Any snag that came up he used to come and ask me. There was one Swift sitting there. They couldn’t keep it in a hangar because it was running fuel all the time out of a pipe out of the back. Filled the drip trays so they kept it outside. They kept it out over a drain. The next thing the farmer down the road said his cows were getting ill. It was the fuel was going into the brook and drinking the oily, oily water so he asked me to do something about it. So I’ve got, I never seen Swift before in my life and I got, I went and got the one and only book on it and I took it home that night and read it. It was gone midnight when I finished reading that. And I studied all the circuits and this that and the other to where that fuel could come from. So then I went over and I undid a couple of panels and I got to the bottom of the tank, main front tank behind the pilot of this Swift and there was three pipes there and I traced them in the book and one was going up to a recuperator tank which was inside the main tank. It was pressurised from the engine. There was a rubber sock in the middle of that little tank. Pressure from the engine so that when you went into a G turn you was still getting full pressure from the engine on to his fuel to keep the fuel pressure up for his engine and that was the rubber sock in the middle of the front tank and that that pipe was the only one, I thought well there must be a pinhole in that rubber sock that’s getting through to the outside of that, but the air side of it and then coming out the drain at the back. And I told, I told the warrant officer this and he said, ‘Righto,’ and he took me onto another job then and he put a sergeant and a few riggers to work the tank out and put it on test to make sure what I said was true and it was. It was leaking. I’d pinpointed it alright. Then I was posted wasn’t I? Where was it? What do you call them? I can’t remember.
CB: So you were in Germany.
KH: In Germany.
CB: Where was that? Bruggen?
KH: Gutersloh.
CB: Oh Gutersloh. Right.
KH: Gutersloh [pause] Bassingbourn. Bassingbourn.
CB: Tell you what. We’ll have a break.
KH: Yeah.
[Recording paused]
CB: Ok Ken. So after Gutersloh where did you go? You came back to Benson did you?
KH: Came back to Benson and the flights, flight commander said, ‘All the technical jobs are occupied but I want somebody to sort out a pain in my neck,’ he says, ‘Which is the roll equipment. I want to put you in charge of roll equipment and I want you to sort it out.’ I didn’t know what roll equipment was and I got down there and I had three sergeants. They were store bashers in the office and I had been an LAC I had a few corporals and a lot of men out in the hangar and they had twenty five Avro Yorks on the station that they could drop the ramp down the back and they could fit it out with roller seats or any anything [barrow?] and all that equipment, the roll equipment is stacked up in the back hangar at Benson and it, and it had to be sorted out. So I I had them all, all in the hangar there together in a group and I told them what's got to be done. So first of all we got some, some of the roller equipment which is racks with roller, roller balls on them. You could put things on so you could move, move everything around on them easily and assembled racks in the hangar to store these things and you’ve got to go through a servicing and then a servicing bay. US that side, serviceable that side and get a gang on servicing that lot and when they finished put them back on the serviceable rack and there were racks for holding all the chains for lashing down. All the straps, all the buckles and rings you could screw into the floor. There was all the seating. There was all the para seating. There was, there was all kinds of rolls. Centre poles you could put down from the floor to ceiling and fit seats in. All that sort of thing which was quite complicated really and these aircraft was going down the route and there was trouble down in [Muharraq?] and I was told by the wing commander to go down the route to [Muharraq?] and sort it out. The roll equipment there. And I walked in to roll equipment there and the flight sergeant in charge there and he’d put there from somewhere else. He didn’t know a thing about it and he was overloaded with the stuff. It was building up and he didn’t know what to do with it. It was the AQMs were slinging stuff off. They were getting a job sheet to carry so much and drop it off to there and this that and the other and no one was taking into account what was in the aircraft and what wasn’t and if there was room or not and it was chaos and the stuff was piling up down the end of the route. And so I went back and I told the wing commander and he said well make out, make out, he made out sent a directive down the route that any aircraft coming back with room has got to put roll equipment on it to bring it back to roll equipment Benson. So they brought it all back slowly so we got it all back and we could work it, work better then. Sorted that one out. What happened from there? From Benson.
CB: What year are we talking about now? 1954.
KH: Oh crumbs yeah.
CB: ’54.
KH: Yeah.
[pause]
CB: Ok. We’ll stop there for a bit.
KH: Yeah. Stop.
[Recording paused]
CB: So Ken, you’re posted to Hornchurch which is on Spitfire’s and they’re much more sophisticated than you’d been trained at Halton.
KH: Yeah.
CB: So how did they get you, ‘cause it’s the height of the Battle of Britain. How did they get you in on the act as it were?
KH: Yes well as an airman. Aircraft fitter. Airframe fitter. Trained but with lack of experience I was told to work with a LAC 1GC airframe fitter which – and we went through all his normal work and I was his mate as it were and I picked up a lot about the Spitfire. I was always questioning. I was always trying to get hold of air publication books so that I could, but I couldn’t get hold of any to learn more about the aircraft. The aircraft was developing in such a pace that new things were happening to the Spitfire all the time. They were improving this, improving that, improving the other and I wasn’t in a position to go in the flight sergeants office and have a look at the, have a look at all the APs and things like that. In any case that wasn’t my main interest at all. It was just getting the overtime worked. Usually working until you got the aircraft serviceable even if you were working until the midnight. It’s got to be ready first thing in the morning. If not and you do a shift work on it until it is ready. Most of the air frame work was you could, you could do it within a couple of hours. Undercart checks, this that and the other I could do in a couple of hours and carry on with the next aircraft but as an AC you could be taken off that job and put on another job even if you were halfway through it to work with somebody else but you don’t make the decisions. They do and they tell you what to do and it was that state of affairs but the more I did of that the more experience I got and the more experience you got the more responsibility they gave you to do. If you got three men and one of them has some experience and the other two are not its experienced bloke that gets the job and he’s the chap they rely on. So I found out, you find out the hard way. Sometimes you’re given the dirty jobs all the time and other times you’re not. You’re given the good jobs. So it depends who the next rank above you is and what he decides. So you’re bobbing around your corporals and your sergeants. Your sergeants were up top. They were miles away.
CB: You mentioned having to check documents. The APs are air force publications aren’t they?
KH: Yes. Yeah.
CB: When an aeroplane lands what has to be done to it before it can fly again? There are some basic procedures are there?
KH: Yeah. The pilot, pilot signs the aircraft in and he puts his signature down and puts down anything he finds wrong with it and he puts it down. That goes down in to the technical section and they put a man on to rectify that fault. So the pilot’s signature’s always there and before he takes the aircraft up he has to do the last signature that it is serviceable is down and then he signs over the top before he takes over and flies the aeroplane. He’s not allowed to take it up unless he signs the 700 first ‘cause that is the bible.
CB: In the heat of the battle they didn’t have time to do that so what happened then?
KH: Oh they did. They did.
CB: Oh they did.
KH: Yeah. Chiefy used to stick the 700 and a pen in his hand and he used to sign that and run. He didn’t know what he’d signed. [laughs]
CB: Amazing. So you’re working long hours. You get to finish the task. Where are you living on the airfield?
KH: Well before I was married I was in a block with the airmen.
CB: Right.
KH: And it was a station then at Benson here. As an airman, before I got married, and was quartered we used to march down from the block, across the main road, down to the hangars and march back again in those days. But they packed that in because it got too difficult in the end.
CB: Because the war was on.
KH: Yeah. This that and the other. Yeah. They got rid of that lot.
CB: And in the, so in a barrack block there are a number of rooms on several floors. How many people in a room?
KH: There’s a ten, ten. Twenty in a room.
CB: Yeah.
KH: And a snag in a bunk.
CB: Yeah. That’s the corporal.
KH: Six, six rooms and there’s a, there’s a static order. Everybody takes a turn in doing certain jobs. Domestic jobs that’s got to be done.
CB: What would they be?
KH: Bumpering the floor. Everyone had got his own space to do. In the old days you used to make your kit up into blankets. They had biscuits. Three biscuits stacked and then the blankets and sheets folded and the last sheet folded right around the top. Put on the top there and they had to leave that before they went, left to go to work like that. But they eased off on that situation later on.
CB: So bumpering the floor meant polishing the floor with a big bumper.
KH: Yeah.
CB: What other jobs were there you had to do?
KH: Well the, when it was your turn, what was it? Now everybody had his own window to clean. His own floor space. Bed. Locker.
CB: And the communal areas.
KH: The room orderly. There were certain things he had to do.
CB: Who was the room orderly?
KH: Everybody took it in turns.
CB: For a week or a day?
KH: No. A week.
CB: Right.
KH: There was a drying room down the back and a wash. A shower room. The toilets.
CB: How did they get cleaned?
KH: They were, they were all on a roster. So they were all done, all covered. The corporal in the bunk was usually the man who run it so it was run very smooth.
CB: Yeah.
KH: You was directly in contact with him.
CB: So in each room there’s a corporal and twenty men.
KH: Yeah.
CB: And now about eating. What was the procedure for that?
KH: Oh well. You just – what was it? [pause] You just wander over to the cookhouse with your mug and irons and no problem. Yeah. Certain times there was times when we had to work overtime on this that and the other and go back to the cookhouse and it still, it still, you’d still get fed and all that. There was no problem. IF you were orderly corporal or a orderly sergeant. An orderly sergeant in the guardroom. He’s got his job laid down down down. He’s got to make sure the NAAFI’s shut at 9 o’clock and he’s got to make sure that this and the other is done. He’s got to go around. It’s all automatic and back to the guardroom. I went to the guardroom the other day and there was two sailors there running it [laughs].
CB: A bit different now.
KH: Yeah.
CB: Yeah. So what were the mealtimes?
KH: Oh normal. Half past seven ‘til eight. Work at half past eight. Nine hours. Or 8 o’clock. Depends what what you’re doing. Some earlier than others. The pen pushers well they were static but the fitters and riggers they have to adapt their work time to suit the job. If there was early start aircraft in the morning they had to be there. They were knocking off early and it was all covered that way.
CB: How often did you sleep next to the aircraft?
KH: Never. No. Never got to that stage.
CB: Not even in the Battle of Britain.
KH: No. Well I don’t know what they did our in the flights but they were, we were the fitters in the hangar.
CB: Right.
KH: Working on the aircraft. There were airframe mechanics, engine mechanics out on the flights dealing with them first hand and they had a different system to cover all eventualities.
KH: And the armourers.
CB: And the same with all. All trades the same. Yeah. The armaments sections. Yeah. Instrument section. This that and the other and they all had their ICs and they were the chaps looking after them. It worked very well.
KH: Yeah. Ok. Stopping there for a mo.
[Recording paused]
JLE: [First days?] I’d find quite interesting to know about.
CB: Apprenticeship days. Right.
KH: Apprenticeship days. Well. You were in a billet. Twenty men and a corporal or the senior man in the bunk. Six rooms to a, six rooms to a block. You’re forming, when I first joined, you’re forming outside with your mug and irons in your hand. Marched to breakfast 8 o’clock. Quarter to eight. Something like that. After breakfast came back and you squared your bed up, rolls your overalls, put them under your arm, fall in outside and you marched on to the square. A Squadron, B Squadron, C Squadron. The man in charge. The band would start up and you’d all march behind the band out the guard room and down the hill. And some would go to workshops, some would go down to the airfield and some would go to the school. About twelve — march back. Dinner. Down again. Marched down again and you’re probably a different, different place the next time and you’d go down the airfield in the morning. You were probably in schools in the afternoon. The schools cover all the theories. Worked everything out there. You’d do practical jobs. You’d dismantle it and assemble it again and various components on the aircraft. Engine fitters would be running the engines and the airframe fitters would be doing this that and the other and instruments were all covered. It was training. We would manage to get a few extra aircraft. I started off with a, with a Hampden bomber and a Hawker Demon and we had all kinds of jobs on that. We had to go over and do fabric work. You know to strip a fabric wing and build it up and repair inside. The type of wood used, the glue used and there are pins and rivets. The balance of the aircraft had to be rigged properly with a, with a straight edge, straight edge and get a bubble right in the middle, on whatever you set it at. Wing incidents. Dihedral tail. The fin slightly offset perhaps. The hinges – no play in the hinges. No play in the aileron hinges. No slack in the controls. Even had to polish the glass in the windows. Make sure everything works properly. Sliding hoods. The tyres of course had to be checked. They’d be taken off. Brakes checked to see that they worked properly. Assembled on again, undercart jacked it up, undercarriage actions. Check the hydraulic pressures. When everything’s been signed up you sign up and the NCO would sign over the lot and that’s it. The aircraft’s serviceable and nothing was allowed out until the last signature was there and it wasn’t even flying unless the pilot signs it as well. So it’s all covered. If anything goes wrong pinpoint who did it, who did what and when and who checked it. So it was a double check. Treble check. The safety of the aircraft must come first.
CB: Ok.
[Recording paused]
KH: There wasn’t much.
CB: Wait. We’re just talking about what Ken and his colleagues did in their time off.
KH: Well we took part in sport. I myself played rugby and so I used to go with the rugby team. I also did, what was it? Had to go for long walks. There was walking gangs. There was PTI down on the, down on the airfield. The PTI instructor would have us all out, arms wide, touch your fingertips all along in a line — two lines, three lines, four lines and as he did the manoeuvre and everybody followed him. Jumping up and down, arms waving, legs doing this, that and the other. Running on the spot and all this sort of thing you know and then always march. March back and, invariably with the band. The band were a pain in the ass. They used to go down in the drying room there practicing and it was din and you’re trying to gen up on a book and there was the bloody noise of these blokes trying to play these instruments. Banging their bloody drums. [laughs]
CB: Nightmare.
KH: But you had to live with it, you know. You learned to live with it. Practicing the bagpipes. They used to go up in the woods with the pipes. That was a good thing.
CB: At Wendover.
KH: In fine weather. Up in Wendover. Yeah. Heard them wailing away out there. They’re terrible things when you can’t play. If you play it properly it sounds good but pipes are terrible when they can’t play.
CB: So when you are then on a squadron we are on the front line effectively. What, how did the time off come and what did you?
KH: Well I was young in those days on the squadron. During the Battle of Britain it was, I can’t remember what I did. I just can’t. Because it was all work. I didn’t have much time off. I never went on holiday that summer. Some blokes used to go because they had a death in the family or something. I felt sorry for them but we took no leave. I couldn’t. I didn’t take any leave to go all the way down to Wales. Took a day and a half to get home some times and down again with the old puffer trains and this that and the other so I never bothered. Just go with the lads down to the village, to a pub and have a game of darts and this that and the other. Whenever possible if there was an organisation or sport I used to put my name down to play rugby and I did very well at that. Although I was small I was scrum half. Put the ball in. Talking about rugby I got in the desert in Egypt and the scrum down and the sand was blowing up the dust and you had the ball to shove in to the scrum and you could hardly see the hole to put the ball in. And the dust would cake around your mouth and you were covered in it and it were — [laughs]. Then again in Berlin I played rugby in the Olympic Stadium, Hitler’s Olympic stadium and snow was on the deck there. On the grass. And we played in three inches of snow. We played rugby there. So there’s a contrast for you. Desert and snow. But mainly it’s a grotty old station camp, station field which had probably got a slope in it and probably a low end where there was a load of mud and a dry end up the top but you adapt yourself to all these conditions and sometimes to your advantage.
CB: Good. Thank you.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Ken Hicks
Identifier
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AHicksDK151103
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-11-03
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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01:21:54 audio recording
Language
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eng
Type
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Sound
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending OH summary
Description
An account of the resource
Ken Hicks grew up in Wales and joined the Royal Air Force as an Apprentice Mechanic at RAF Halton. He worked on Spitfires during the Battle of Britain. He was later posted to Rhodesia and survived a crash in the bush. After the war, He took part in the Berlin Airlift and found a civilian worker who had died and been buried under the snow.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Africa
Egypt
Germany
Great Britain
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Kent
Germany--Berlin
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1948
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
222 Squadron
C-47
fitter airframe
ground crew
ground personnel
RAF Abingdon
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Benson
RAF Halton
RAF Hornchurch
RAF Manston
Spitfire
Tiger Moth
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/81/7914/LGodfreyCR1281391v10001.2.pdf
2bb4feee369606f050f7e0e0563b6922
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Godfrey, Charles Randall
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Description
An account of the resource
64 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Charles Randall Godfrey DFC (b. 1921, 146099, Royal Air Force) and consists of his logbook and operational notes, items of memorabilia, association memberships, personnel documentation, medals and photographs. He completed 37 operations with 37 Squadron in North Africa and the Mediterranean and 59 operations with 635 Squadron. He flew as a wireless operator in the crew of Squadron Leader Ian Willoughby Bazalgette VC.
The collection has has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by David Charles Godfrey and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Godfrey, CR
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-18
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Charles Godfey's observer's and air gunner's flying log book
Format
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One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LGodfreyCR1281391v10001
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
Egypt
France
Libya
Greece
Germany
Gibraltar
Great Britain
Netherlands
Scotland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Belgium--Haine-Saint-Pierre
Egypt--Alexandria
Egypt--Cairo
Egypt--Ismailia (Province)
Egypt--Marsá Maṭrūḥ
Egypt--Tall al-Ḍabʻah
England--Berkshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cumbria
England--Devon
England--Gloucestershire
England--Hampshire
England--Kent
England--Leicestershire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Norfolk
England--Northumberland
England--Oxfordshire
England--Rutland
England--Shropshire
England--Suffolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Worcestershire
England--Yorkshire
France--Angers
France--Caen
France--Creil
France--Mantes-la-Jolie
France--Nucourt
France--Rennes
Germany--Wiesbaden
Germany--Berchtesgaden
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Chemnitz
Germany--Dorsten
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düren (Cologne)
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Essen
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Mainz (Rhineland-Palatinate)
Germany--Merseburg
Germany--Mönchengladbach
Germany--Munich
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Osnabrück
Germany--Osterfeld
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Troisdorf
Germany--Wanne-Eickel
Germany--Wesel (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Wesseling
Greece--Ērakleion
Greece--Piraeus
Libya--Darnah
Libya--Tobruk
Netherlands--Hasselt
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Scotland--Moray
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
England--Cornwall (County)
North Africa
Libya--Banghāzī
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Libya--Gazala
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1942-03-23
1942-06-10
1942-06-11
1942-06-12
1942-06-13
1942-06-14
1942-06-15
1942-06-16
1942-06-17
1942-06-18
1942-06-19
1942-06-20
1942-06-22
1942-06-23
1942-06-24
1942-06-25
1942-06-26
1942-06-28
1942-06-29
1942-07-02
1942-07-03
1942-07-05
1942-07-08
1942-07-09
1942-07-10
1942-07-12
1942-07-13
1942-07-15
1942-07-16
1942-07-17
1942-07-19
1942-07-20
1942-07-25
1942-07-26
1942-07-28
1942-07-29
1942-07-31
1942-08-01
1942-08-06
1942-08-07
1942-08-08
1942-08-09
1942-08-14
1942-08-15
1942-08-16
1942-08-17
1942-08-18
1942-08-19
1942-08-21
1942-08-22
1942-08-23
1942-08-24
1942-08-25
1942-08-26
1942-08-27
1942-08-28
1942-08-29
1942-08-30
1942-08-31
1942-09-01
1942-09-03
1942-09-05
1942-09-06
1942-09-08
1942-09-09
1944-05-06
1944-05-08
1944-05-12
1944-05-13
1944-05-27
1944-05-28
1944-05-29
1944-06-05
1944-06-07
1944-06-08
1944-06-09
1944-06-12
1944-06-13
1944-06-15
1944-06-16
1944-06-23
1944-06-24
1944-07-07
1944-07-09
1944-07-10
1944-07-14
1944-07-15
1944-07-16
1944-07-18
1944-07-19
1944-07-20
1944-07-23
1944-07-24
1944-07-25
1944-07-26
1944-07-28
1944-07-29
1944-07-30
1944-08-01
1944-08-04
1944-11-17
1944-11-18
1944-12-04
1944-12-06
1944-12-07
1944-12-12
1944-12-15
1944-12-18
1944-12-24
1944-12-28
1944-12-29
1945-01-01
1945-01-02
1945-01-05
1945-01-07
1945-01-08
1945-01-23
1945-02-01
1945-02-02
1945-02-03
1945-02-04
1945-02-07
1945-02-08
1945-02-09
1945-02-14
1945-02-15
1945-02-18
1945-02-20
1945-02-21
1945-03-07
1945-03-08
1945-03-22
1945-03-24
1945-03-25
1945-03-31
1945-04-11
1945-04-13
1945-04-14
1945-04-25
1945-04-30
1945-05-05
1945-05-07
1945-05-15
1945-05-22
1945-06-08
1945-06-18
1945-08-03
1945-08-05
1944-06-06
1944-08-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Description
An account of the resource
Observer's and air gunner's flying log book for Pilot Officer Godfrey from 3 of February 1941 to 25 of September 1945 detailing training schedule, instructional duties and operations flown. Aircraft flown were Dominie, Proctor, Wellington, Hampden, Anson, Defiant, Martinet, Stirling, Lancaster, C-47 and Oxford. He was stationed at RAF Manby, RAF Bassingbourn, RAF Harwell, RAF Lossiemouth, RAF Downham Market, RAF Hemswell, RAF Wittering, RAF Abingdon, RAF Upper- Heyford, RAF Upwood, RAF Gillingham, RAF Cranwell, RAF Melton Mowbray, RAF Church Fenton, RAF Market Drayton, RAF Waddington, RAF Upavon, RAF Sywell, RAF Carlisle, RAF Linton-On-Ouse, RAF Newbury, RAF Cottesmore, RAF Brize Norton, RAF Exeter, RAF Andover, RAF Hampstead Norris, RAF Hythe, RAF Gibraltar, RAF St Eval, RAF El Dabba, RAF Shaluffa, RAF Abu Sueir, RAF Almaza, RAF Blyton, RAF Ingham, RAF Marston Moor, RAF Leeming, RAF Acklington, RAF Middleton St. George, RAF Newmarket, RAF Moreton-in-Marsh, RAF Leconfield, RAF Skipton-on-Swale, RAF Wyton, RAF Warboys, RAF Westcott, RAF Gravely and RAF Worcester. He completed 37 operations with 37 Squadron in North Africa and the Mediterranean and 59 operations with 635 Squadron to targets in Belgium, France and Germany. Targets included: Heraklion, Piraeus, Derna, Tamimi, Benghazi Harbour, Gazala, Mersa Matruh, Ras El Shaqiq, El Daba, Tobruk, Fuqa, Quatafiya, Düren, Munster, Mantes- Gassicourt rail yards, Haine St. Pierre rail yards, Hasselt rail yards, Rennes, Angers rail yards, Caen, Ravigny rail yards, Nucourt, Wesseling oil refineries, L’Hey, Kiel, Stuttgart, Hamburg, Notre Dame, Trossy St. Maximin, Karlsruhe, Merseburg, Essen, Ludwigshafen, Duisburg, Dusseldorf, Mönchengladbach, Troisdorf, Dortmund, Nuremberg, Hannover, Munich, Gelsenkirchen, Mainz, Wiesbaden, Osterfeld, Kleve, Wanne- Eickel, Chemnitz, Wesel, Worms, Hemmingstedt, Dorsten, Bottrop, Osnabruck, Berchtesgaden, Ypenburg and Rotterdam. Notable events are that Charles Godfrey undertook a search and rescue operation in a Defiant and during the operation to Trossy St Maximin 4 August 1944 his aircraft, Lancaster ND811, was brought down by anti-aircraft fire. Whilst he survived and evaded, his pilot, Ian Willoughby Bazalgette was awarded the Posthumous Victoria Cross. The hand written notes added to the end of the log book give a description to the crash, and his attempts to evade capture. Pilot Officer Godfrey also took part in Operation Manna, Operation Exodus and Operation Dodge.
11 OTU
15 OTU
20 OTU
37 Squadron
635 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
bombing of the Normandy coastal batteries (5/6 June 1944)
Bombing of Trossy St Maximin (3 August 1944)
C-47
Cook’s tour
Defiant
Dominie
evading
Hampden
killed in action
Lancaster
Martinet
missing in action
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
Proctor
RAF Abingdon
RAF Andover
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Blyton
RAF Brize Norton
RAF Carlisle
RAF Church Fenton
RAF Cottesmore
RAF Cranwell
RAF Downham Market
RAF Graveley
RAF Hampstead Norris
RAF Harwell
RAF Hemswell
RAF Ingham
RAF Leconfield
RAF Leeming
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Manby
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Melton Mowbray
RAF Middleton St George
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Newmarket
RAF Skipton on Swale
RAF St Eval
RAF Sywell
RAF Upavon
RAF Upper Heyford
RAF Upwood
RAF Waddington
RAF Warboys
RAF Westcott
RAF Wittering
RAF Wyton
shot down
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
training
Victoria Cross
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/581/8850/AHearmonPC160317.1.mp3
357fd317f299351fbd3b3b83ddd33699
Dublin Core
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Title
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Hearmon, Peter Charles
P C Hearmon
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Hearmon, PC
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Flight Lieutenant Peter Charles Hearmon (b. 1931, 2507699 Royal Air Force). He served as a pilot with 55, 58 and 61 Squadrons between 1951 - 1971.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-03-17
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and we’re here in Milton Keynes with Peter Charles Hearmon who was a peacetime pilot and navigator and this is a sequel to the RAF’s activities in the war and we’re going to talk about his life from the earliest days and to joining the RAF and his interesting variations. Peter, where do we start?
PH: Well my father was a London fireman and he was stationed at Euston Road Fire Station so I was born in University College Hospital which was in Gower Street just across the road. My earliest recollections are of a flat because in those days firemen lived on the premises and my earliest recollection is a flat at Clerkenwell Road Fire, not Clerkenwell, yeah Clerkenwell Road Fire Station because my father had moved by then and my grandmother Nanty lived with us. And I can remember as a kid of about six or seven, strictly forbidden to but we used to slide down the poles ‘cause that was the way the firemen got to the, to the ground in those days and they, I don’t know if people realise it, it wasn’t a continuous pole. It just went two floors. Well this, otherwise they would pick up such a speed they’d break their bloody legs when they got to the bottom. No it wasn’t a long pole, it was, you know. Anyway, then we, my father left the fire brigade in about 1938 and we moved to a council flat in Lewis Trust in Amhurst Road, Hackney from which we were bombed. And I was evacuated initially in, I should think, before the Second World War started in about the August. I was one of those kids with a gas mask in a brown box with a label saying who I was and I was evacuated to a place called Toller Porcorum which is in Dorset, a small village but we lasted three days. There were three Cockney lads, seven or eight billeted on some poor old dear well into her nineties and we all, well in those days they, they allocated, they just said to one of the local councillors, ‘You’re the allocation officer,’ and they just went around and knocked on doors and said, ‘How many rooms you got?’ ‘I’ve got three rooms.’ ‘Oh you’ve only got one kid. You can have two evacuees.’ It was as simple as that. We lasted three days and we all ran away back home and I was variously evacuated to Exmouth in Devon. I got an eleven plus and that was, we were, I went to Westminster City School which was billeted with Tonbridge High School in Tonbridge. That was during the Battle of Britain and that was a good thing because all, we were being rained on and bombed on and then I was re-evacuated to Devon and then back to, I think eventually back to London during the V1 V2 campaign because there was nowhere is England that was any different by that time. We’re talking about 1944/45. The Germans were raiding ad lib as it were, you know. Indiscriminately. So London was as bad or as good as anywhere so I went back home and the school came back to London, Westminster City and I left in 1947 with a good clutch of O levels especially in languages. French and Latin. Didn’t do German in those days. And due to a friend of my mother’s I got an apprenticeship with a firm called Princeline in the merchant navy and I did three and a half years but decided it wasn’t for me and I left. Couldn’t get a job really because although I was, I was over nineteen I was still national, liable for National Service by then because having been in the merchant navy, the merchant navy was a reserved occupation but because I’d left so I wrote to them and asked to be called up and I was called up for the army and I went to a place called [Inacton?] I forget what it was. Selection centre. The Korean War was on and I went, I went in front of the naval chap who said I could join the navy. They only took twelve National Servicemen a year and I said no thanks. The army chap was, said to me you can join and with your educational qualifications even as a National Serviceman you’ll probably get a commission but then for some reason, I forget why, the air force chap interjected and said, ‘We’re looking for aircrew,’ and he did some dickering with the army chap and that was how I joined the air force. I was literally sort of called up, you know. Went to Padgate and that was a laugh because the, the instructors were all acting corporal, National Servicemen who’d done a six week course or somewhere or the other and given a couple of stripes and in fact our, our hut commander was an acting corporal who was quite frankly illiterate. I used to, used to get one of my guys to read him from the Beano, to read to him from the Beano. You may laugh but it was the God’s honest truth, you know. Anyway, went to Hornchurch selected for pilot, navigator and I think gunner or gunner something like that. And I then accepted and we were offered at that stage the choice of staying as a National Serviceman or becoming what they call a short term engagement where you got regular pay so I opted for short term engagement. Went to nav school at Hullavington and when we first arrived at Hullavington my course were all suspended pilots with wings which rather upset a lot of the staff pilots because we were all officers and they were only sergeants but eventually we were told to take our wings down so we had to take our wings off. So I then qualified as a navigator. Spent five, six months at St Mawgan because there were no vacancies in the Navigation Training Scheme flying Lancasters so I did some Lancaster flying there. And then I went to Lindholme, that’s right, for the air observer’s course on Canberras. Didn’t do any, in those days the pilots and navigators went through Bassingbourn together. The set up or bomb aimer or whatever you like to call them did six weeks at Lindholme and then joined the crew on the squadron which is what I did. That was at Upwood and when I arrived I think we only had about four or five, there was only about four or five aircraft. That was when you had squadron leader COs as well but we slowly but surely got aircraft from Short’s. I think Short’s made some Canberras and I think we ended up with something like eight UE and twelve crews. Sounds about right. I think it’s something like that. We were chased out of Upwood eventually by, no, sorry Wittering, it wasn’t Upwood, it was Wittering. We were at Wittering. We were chased out by the arrival of 148 squadron Valiants and we then went, then went to Upwood which I think by that time we ended up with something like four Canberra squadrons from Scampton or, I think, well it was 61 squadron. 40 squadron. I can’t remember the names of the others. I think there was four ‘cause at one time in the air force I counted there were forty eight Canberra squadrons in the UK, Cyprus and the Far East. I think [I was more or less?] was astounded when I counted. Yeah. I mean, I don’t think there are forty eight squadrons in the air force at all at the minute is there? You see we had Canberras at Upwood, Scampton, Waddington. What’s the one further north? Binbrook. Wyton. All had three or four squadrons. I think I’m talking of the days when there were a squadron leader CO and I was, I was a flight commander as well. I was acting flight commander as a flying officer. [cough] excuse me. Anyway, let me go and get a drink of water. Sorry.
CB: Ok.
PH: Talking.
[Recording paused]
CB: We’re re-starting now to recap slightly and go to the initial training that Peter did and just take us through that.
PH: When I, when I, is it going?
CB: Yeah.
PH: When I was called up in 1951 I went to Padgate where we didn’t do very much at all. I was there for about six weeks. We really got kitted out. That’s where we got our uniforms or up to a point our uniforms. Some of it. Some of it. It was, it was very odd because at times there were groups with wearing their own jacket but air force trousers and air force shirts and air force berets or whatever but anyway after about six weeks at Padgate we went to Hornchurch for aircrew selection which and I was given pilot. I don’t think I was given navigator believe it or not. I think I was given pilot, gunner, engineer. We then went back to Padgate and we awaited and we got, I got posted to Number 3 ITS at Cranwell and that was a six month ab initio course doing square bashing, PT, customs of the service. Mathematics. Physics. We had a lot of National Service teachers in those days of course who had done their, because in those days at eighteen you could either opt to do your National Service straightaway or you could defer it until after you’d been to university. And a lot of these guys had been, had degrees and were just doing their National Service after university so they were in their twenties normally. They only wore hairy battledresses because they weren’t issued even though they were officers they weren’t issued with anything else so that was it. So we did six months at the ITS and I think there was, there was, if I remember there were four ITSs at Cranwell. At Cranwell alone or [as of anywhere?] and there was over a hundred on each. The chop rate was about fifty percent so at the end of the course of the six months there would only be fifty of you left and these, these were pilots, navigators and gunners and then from there you went to your specialist training and I went then to Feltwell and I did my flying training on Prentices, then Harvards. Got my wings, as we said on the time and went to Driffield on, on Meteors. And then from there I went to Chivenor on Vampires which I didn’t get on with and of that course of fourteen because the Korean War ended seven of us were suspended from pilot training.
CB: So when you went doing your training at Driffield. What did you do? It was a two seater Meteor was it?
PH: Two seat. Yeah. The Meteor 7.
CB: And so what was the programme that you had for that?
PH: Well you -
CB: ‘Cause it was the first jet really.
PH: You flew, you flew nearly every day even only for a short time. Say an hour or so if that. A with an instructor and eventually I forget, it will tell you in my logbook you. Eventually went solo and because you went solo that didn’t mean, you still, you still did dual trips for various other things like aerobatics and things like that. And then eventually you did your final trip as a flight commander you were passed out you know as having satisfied. I got a white card at Driffield but then I went to say Chivenor and there were fourteen on my course at Chivenor of which seven were suspended and I was offered the choice. By that time I was a regular of course and I was offered the choice of finishing my National Service, I had about a week or so to do or retraining. By that time I was married. I was married in the previous year so I decided I rather liked the air force so I decided to retrain as a navigator. And so then I went to Hullavington and I had my pilot training. Actually my pilot training stood me in good stead because I finished about second or third on the course you know because a lot of the navigator and pilot training, especially the ground school, they were the same, you know, the meteorology, all that sort of thing was pretty good so I’d already done it. Most of it. But they were, in fact the course I was on at Hullavington were all chop pilots and I think as I mentioned earlier we were, we were forced to take our wings down eventually.
CB: Only temporarily.
PH: Well no we never got them back again because we then had, we then got navigator brevvies and the law of the Royal Air Force was you wear the brevvy of the trade in which you are practicing.
CB: Ok.
PH: Well we, our brevvies were virtually removed permanently. We were told we could no longer wear them. Right. Ok.
CB: Ok. So you did the Hullavington course.
PH: Yes.
CB: And you then got your new brevvy which was –
PH: Correct.
CB: The navigator. So then where did you go?
PH: Went to St Mawgan as the assistant flying adj because there was no vacancies for Canberra training at the time and I was there for six months. Did quite a lot of flying in Lancasters.
[phone ringing]
PH: Which one was that? Or was it –
[Recording paused]
PH: In training.
CB: Right. So –
PH: But because, because I was a navigator and I got on well with the squadron leader flying –
CB: Yeah.
PH: He said, ‘Pete, come and fly with us,’
CB: Yeah.
PH: So off I went. You know.
CB: So we’re talking about using your time at St Mawgan.
PH: Correct.
CB: And you got –
PH: Went to Gibraltar two or three times.
CB: Right. As the navigator on the –
PH: As the nav. Yeah.
CB: On the Lancaster.
PH: On the Lanc. And believe it or not we used to take down in the bomb bay bundles of hay because the AOC there and the brigadier they had a cow because they couldn’t stand Spanish milk. Have you ever tried Spanish milk? Spanish milk is bloody awful.
CB: Yeah. Yeah.
PH: Anyway, they had a cow so in the bomb bay of the Lanc which is quite large we used to take bales of hay for the, for the AOC’s cow and bring back things like Christmas trees or potatoes and things like that you know.
CB: Yeah. Any wine?
PH: And wine. Yes. Of course.
CB: Ok. So you had six months of this.
PH: About six months.
CB: Time.
PH: And then I went to Hullavington and did the nav course.
CB: Oh this was before. This, was this after the nav course or before it?
PH: What?
CB: No. This being at St Mawgan was after –
PH: Oh no that was before, that was after getting brevvy, between getting a brevvy.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And actually getting, no it wasn’t the nav course. No. Start again.
CB: Yeah.
PH: I’d already completed my nav course.
CB: Exactly. Yes.
PH: And I had a brevvy.
CB: Yeah.
PH: I went to Hullavington. I went to St Mawgan.
CB: St Mawgan.
PH: On, all of my nav course there was no slots available.
CB: No.
PH: And we all got jobs and went to all sorts of places as, I don’t know –
CB: Just a holding position.
PH: A holding yeah.
CB: Yeah.
PH: A holding post. Some went as MTs. Some went as –
CB: Right.
PH: If you could drive they made you MT officer, you know.
CB: So, so what was the unit that you were supposed to go to after that?
PH: Well it was the flying, it was the, I was, it was the flying wing, just the flying wing.
CB: Ok.
PH: ‘Cause Hullavington at that time was the School of Maritime Reconnaissance.
CB: Right.
PH: MRS. And it was, they used Lancasters prior to, to the chaps training on Shackletons because typical of the air force the MRS was at St Mawgan which is in bloody, you know, Cornwall and the OCU was up in Scotland. So the guys did their course and they had to go all the way up to Scotland to do, to convert to Shackletons. They used, ‘cause of course the Shackletons as you know was a development of the Lancaster.
CB: Sure. Ok so you went back to Hullavington in order to get ready to go on to what aircraft?
PH: No. No. From, from, from St Mawgan I then went to Lindholme.
CB: Right.
PH: Ready to go on to Canberras.
CB: Ok.
PH: And we did the six week bombing course and then I joined 61 squadron direct at Wittering and as I said earlier on the pilot and navigator, plotter he was known as, they called them the plotter in the, in the Canberra and I was the observer. The plotter, they went to Bassingbourn together and the observers joined straight from Lindholme which was the Bomber Command Bombing School. BBBS.
CB: Ok.
PH: So, I didn’t do a conversion as such. Conversion was done on the squadron.
CB: Right. Ok. So, now you’re at Wittering.
PH: Yes.
CB: 61 squadron. So what happened there?
PH: Well we were there for about a year and then they decided to move us to Upwood because of the formation of the first Valiant squadron which was coming to Wittering. 148 squadron. Tubby, Tubby Oakes, something like that was the guy who ran it. It was quite amusing because when we were doing the major exercises, I forget what they were called now, where we used to fly right up to the Iron Curtain and then all turn left as it were. We used to have to take off on the peri tracks because the mock, the invisible Valiants were using the main runway. That’s the honest truth. There were no, we didn’t have any Valiants there but they were, we had to get used to, I mean the peri tracks, if you know Wittering.
CB: I do. Yes.
PH: There was a big runway and there was a big peri track so it was quite funny. I’m trying to think of what they were called. It will be in my logbook somewhere.
CB: Ok. So –
PH: We used to do these operations quite regularly.
CB: So when you were at Wittering you were in Canberras and where are you flying? Are you on your own or do you go out as a formation?
PH: Sorry. Say again.
CB: You’re at Wittering.
PH: Yes.
CB: And you’re now on operations.
PH: Yes.
CB: Effectively. Do you go off as a formation or did you go off as -?
PH: No. No. We’re still using the World War Two tactics. Stream.
CB: Right.
PH: You didn’t, I don’t think I ever done, I can’t ever remember doing formation. Did at Wyton eventually but only as a practice. It was never used operationally.
CB: Right.
PH: The Canberras. The Canberra was a night bomber really and it was, and of course we had Gee.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And GH and you did a minute stream. A minute stream.
CB: Yeah.
PH: We all flew one after the other up to the Iron Curtain and then all turned left you know. It was just to stir, stir up the Warsaw Pact. That was what it was really all about.
CB: Yeah. Quite predictable. Always turning left.
PH: That’s correct. Yes. That’s right.
CB: Ok.
PH: And then we’d probably go to Nordhorn or somewhere like that and do some bombing or whatever.
CB: Yeah. So, in Norway.
PH: No. Nordhorn is in Germany wasn’t it? I think.
CB: Oh was it?
PH: Yeah.
CB: Oh so you were flying that way as well as going up to the –
PH: Well we’d go out direct to the Iron Curtain, turn left.
CB: I see.
PH: Come back via Nordhorn which was -
CB: Yeah. Ok.
PH: In the northern part of Germany.
CB: Ok.
PH: In fact I’m not sure. It’s one of those islands that are off Sylt. Somewhere like that.
CB: Ok. So, yeah. Right. Ok.
PH: This is a long time ago now.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Fifty years ago, you know.
CB: So, when you were bombing what were you dropping?
PH: Twenty five pound bombs.
CB: Ok.
PH: When we, when we were using the bigger ones. The thousand pounders we tended to do that at, in Malta. Filfla. There was a bombing range. There was an island there that was used as a bombing range in Malta.
CB: Right.
PH: For daylight bombing we always used to deploy to, to Luqa for about a month at a time and use the bombing ranges in Libya which of course was not part of the empire but I don’t know, we had some, I forget, we had some interest in it.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And the Americans had some interest in it when they kicked out whatever his name was. I’m trying to think.
CB: Yeah. Well the airfield there was El Adem wasn’t it?
PH: That was one of the airfields. Yes. There was Benghazi. And there was another one the Americans had which had been called King, it was called Idris. That’s right.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Yes.
CB: Ok. So when you went on a sortie how did the sortie run?
PH: Say again.
CB: When you went off on these sorties how did the sorties run? Did you go on a dog leg or directly or how –
PH: Well you were given a timing to time on, TOT, Time On Target and you may have to dog leg if you were a bit early but usually you were late [laughs]. You were urging the, urging the pilot to put a bit more steam on.
CB: Ok.
PH: It was just a, I mean if that was Germany and say that’s the Iron Curtain there was a stream like and when you got there you turned left and went off to various places. Theddlethorpe, Nordhorn or sometimes back to base. That’s interesting. That’s right. We had something called to recover at base. You had something called a Trombone and the idea was to keep secret. You didn’t transmit or anything and they used to, your base would give a time. They would give a time. They would say whatever it was and you in your individual aircraft had a plus. So many minutes for your overhead so they had something called a Trombone and I know from Wittering on several occasions my Trombone ended over Liverpool ‘cause you had to lose thirty minutes or some bloody nonsense you know. This was so that when you landed you were landing in, I don’t think they, you see I don’t think although we were a minute apart in the bombing thing landing was a different ball game. They had to have a gap of about two minutes or three minutes which meant of course that the further back you were in the stream the longer you had to lose. In other words to land.
CB: So when you were actually doing the bombing the space time between aircraft doing the bombing is one minute. Is it –?
PH: Something like that. Yeah.
CB: The same for everybody was it?
PH: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: Right.
PH: But then after that as I say because you couldn’t land at minute’s slots at night you see.
CB: Yeah.
PH: During the day possibly. Excuse me [cough]. So you had to, as I say I had this Trombone where you flew down the Trombone to lose whatever minutes.
CB: Lose time.
PH: You had to. Yeah.
CB: Yeah. Ok. So how many planes are going up at a time on this sort of thing?
PH: Oh I would have thought, well I was, you know well you say four hundred out?], a couple of hundred at least. Half. Every, every airfield, every Canberra airfield would have to send up about fifty percent of their aircraft.
CB: So –
PH: There would be a lot of aeroplanes in the air at the time.
CB: We’re in the dark as it was the case in the war.
PH: That’s right.
CB: And how were you aware or otherwise of the other planes on the stream?
PH: Never. [laughs] Didn’t see them. I think we flew with lights up to a certain point and then I can’t remember. I’m sure we flew with lights up to a certain point. Then they were switched off. I mean there were, there were mid airs as you can imagine.
CB: Mid-air collisions. Yeah.
PH: Correct.
CB: Fatal.
PH: Well I presume so yeah I mean let’s face it they didn’t advertise it too much as you can imagine.
CB: No. Ok. So you were at Wittering with 61 squadron. How long were you there?
PH: I’m trying to remember. Only about a year I think it was. Then we went to Upwood.
CB: Same squadron.
PH: Same squadron. Yes. I think, that’s right, I’m trying to remember. There was 61 squadron and I’m trying to think, there was, was there another squadron came from, yes there was another squadron came from, from Wittering. I can’t remember its number. There was 35 squadron and 40 squadron which came from somewhere like Scampton or Waddington. Somewhere like that. They ended up with four squadrons at Wittering if I remember right.
CB: Ok. And what about overseas detachments? How often did you do those?
PH: Oh yeah. We used to go to Malta, oh I should think every three months for anything up to, up to a month at a time. Some two weeks to a month doing visual bombing either at Idris, not Idris, I’m trying, Tarhuna, I think was the range in Libya.
CB: In Libya. Ok. And I’m just thinking of the envelope you were operating in. So you take off. What height would you cruise at?
PH: Anything between thirty six and forty thousand feet.
CB: And what speed would you be doing?
PH: Are you talking about airspeed or ground speed? Air speed would be about –
CB: Take air speed.
PH: Four hundred and sixty. Oh no. Not air speed, no. True airspeed about five hundred. I can’t remember. Two hundred and twenty knots. Something like that.
CB: Oh you were quite, quite –
PH: Something like that. Your true airspeed is twice your indicated airspeed.
CB: Ok.
PH: Something like that.
CB: Right.
PH: I don’t remember the figures.
CB: The indicated air speed would be?
PH: Well the indicated air speed would be, well about two hundred and twenty knots you see.
CB: Right.
PH: That was what you saw on your dial with your back –
CB: Yeah.
PH: Because we didn’t have GPI on 61 squadron.
CB: GPS. Right.
PH: GPS.
CB: Ok. So your, the actual speed that you’re going is what? Over –
PH: Four hundred and eighty knots.
CB: Four eighty. Ok.
PH: Something of that order.
CB: And you’re at variable heights. How was the height decided?
PH: Well I can assure you in 1955/56 there wasn’t a fighter in either the allied or the Warsaw Pact that could touch a Canberra flight. We could turn inside them you see.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Of course that really broad wing. I mean if we turned inside a Hunter it fell, it fell out the sky.
CB: Yeah.
PH: So did Sabres.
CB: Sure. So how often did you do fighter affiliation?
PH: Not that often. Not that often. Not true fighter affiliation. We, I can’t, I don’t remember doing any actual fighter affiliation with the RAF. Fleet Air Arm yes. I’m trying to think. Was it HMS Albion? What was the carrier they had in those days?
CB: So this would be in the Mediterranean or in the North Sea.
PH: No. In the Mediterranean. Yes. Yeah.
CB: Yeah. Ok.
PH: When we were at, they used to ask us to come down five thousand feet –
CB: Ok. Did they?
PH: Because their fighters couldn’t reach us. I think they had Venoms –
CB: Yeah.
PH: Or something on board didn’t they?
CB: Then Sea Hawks. Later they had Sea Hawks.
PH: Oh and Attackers.
CB: Then Attackers. Yeah. So now the bombing run so where would the bombing run start?
PH: I’m not with you.
CB: So you’ve got a target.
PH: Yes.
CB: And you’ve transited to the target.
PH: Yes.
CB: But how would you handle the bombing run? Would you be higher? Lower?
PH: Well that was, that was when you were sort of vulnerable because you had to be, fly straight and level for at least twenty miles before the target.
CB: Right.
PH: So then you had to stay straight and level. In fact we developed a technique, the Canberra squadrons developed a technique called the late bomb door opening because if you opened the bomb doors way back it made it very difficult. It made the aircraft wobble.
CB: Yes. Yeah.
PH: So we I think it was seven seconds before target, before, not target, but before actually dropping the GH bomb.
CB: Yeah.
PH: I mean, don’t forget you’re way back aren’t you?
CB: Yeah.
PH: I mean you’re about thirty miles from the target. I can’t remember the exact distance but you’re well back because of the forward throw of the bomb.
CB: Yeah. Yeah. Well it -
PH: It had a different –
CB: Depended on the height and speed as to just how –
PH: Yes, exactly. Yes.
CB: Far you were letting go in advance?
PH: We had, you had a set of, you had a set of figures which were quite amusing. This is a true story. You’ll like a true story. You had a set of figures which you set up on your G set.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And when they [clashed?] the bomb went automatically.
CB: Right.
PH: And we were, we were first in the stream, that’s right, it was when we, Squadron Leader Hartley so it must, we were, it must have been soon after we arrived at Wittering because we were still a a 8UE squadron. Squadron Leader Hartley was the boss who got killed subsequently. Anyway, we arrived back to be greeted and this was on a night exercise and I should think it’s in the book. They used to do them, we used to do them regularly. About at least once a month. Let me have a look and see. See if I can get the name.
CB: So we’re looking in the book now but –
PH: Well I’m trying to see what –
[pause]
CB: Well what we could do Peter is come back to that.
PH: Well yeah anyway.
CB: Because –
PH: There used to be, used to be an exercise, an operation so and so. This is what I was talking about where you flew to the, I’ve lost the thread now. Oh yes we were first in, we were first at Nordhorn and I dropped the bomb. Fifty yards I said. I said, ‘That’s the fifty yards [two hours down?]. We landed. We had this enormous bloody greeting. Station commander. Squadron commander. ‘What did you do Pete?’ ‘Well what did I do?’ ‘Well your bomb dropped two thousand yards short in the woods, set fire to the woods and the whole exercise had to be cancelled’. So I said, ‘Well I don’t understand that.’ And they said, ‘Can we see?’ And what had happened was the nav leader had typed the wrong, one of the digits wrong in my G set. So it wasn’t my fault.
CB: No.
PH: It was the nav leader.
CB: This was before you took off.
PH: Oh yeah. Yeah.
CB: Yeah.
PH: You had a set of digits.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And those are the ones you put in your GH set?
CB: Yeah.
PH: And he’d, he’d typed them up in a hurry or whatever and he’d got one of the digits wrong and it was two thousand yards out. So I was, I was exonerated and he got his bum kicked.
CB: Yeah.
PH: You can imagine.
CB: Yeah. Sure.
PH: Well the whole exercise had to be cancelled ‘cause we were the first ones through. ‘Cause I mean, I had the, I was the best bomb aimer in Bomber Command at the time.
CB: Right.
PH: Allegedly you know.
CB: Yeah. Yeah.
PH: Done on results.
CB: Yeah. Right. So just going back. Here we are on the run in.
PH: Yes.
CB: And –
PH: That’s when you’ve got to fly straight and level.
CB: You’ve got, straight and level. Would you normally be at a higher or lower level than your cruise approach when you actually did the bombing?
PH: Do you know I can’t remember?
CB: Ok.
PH: No. I’ve got an idea that you tended to fly around at the height you were going to bomb at.
CB: Right. So the practicality is we’ve got the pilot and then we have the navigator and –
PH: The plotter. Yes.
CB: Plotter as well so there’s three of you in the aircraft.
PH: Correct.
CB: Who did the bombing?
PH: I did. The, the set up.
CB: Right. Ok.
PH: So you had, the navigator had in front of him, he had his radar screen.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And I had a GH screen up there.
CB: Yeah. So you’re sitting side by side in the back.
PH: Yes. That’s right.
CB: How did you get through to the front?
PH: Well you climbed on the, there was a, only, only fifty percent of the back, I mean all the instruments were there and there was a gap.
CB: Yeah.
PH: You had to go under the, you know you had to –
CB: So you’re crawling down to the –
PH: This was only for visual bombing.
CB: Yeah.
PH: You had to go in to the nose.
CB: That’s what I meant.
PH: For visual bombing. For GH bombing you did it in your seat.
CB: Ok. That’s what I’m trying to get, differentiate here. Sometimes you’d do visual bombing would you?
PH: Correct.
CB: On what circumstance would you do visual bombing?
PH: Well they did a lot during the Suez campaign.
CB: Ok.
PH: When they bombed because it was in, the Gee and GH didn’t reach that far.
CB: No. Right. So you were practising visual bombing.
PH: Correct.
CB: At any time.
PH: From forty eight thousand feet sometimes.
CB: Right. Ok.
PH: Used to have, there was a strike barge at Wainfleet and I think there was another one at Chesil, Chesil beach.
CB: Right. In the south. Yeah.
PH: These were, these were the old invasion barges painted black and yellow and they used those as targets. And there was Theddlethorpe, Nordhorn but some, I think Theddlethorpe and Nordhorn were GH I don’t think they were visual. I can’t remember.
CB: Right.
PH: I think they were straight GH.
CB: So here we are flying along on your final approach to the target.
PH: Yes.
CB: The pilot and you are coordinating the activity.
PH: Completely yes.
CB: Who is actually running the plane at that time?
PH: Oh the pilot. The pilot.
CB: Right he’s still running it.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Who is pressing the –
PH: Unlike some of the American aircraft where the bomb aimer actually had physical control of the aeroplane. The Brits never went for that.
CB: No.
PH: You always used to say to the pilot left a bit, left a bit, steady, steady, steady.
CB: Sure. Yeah. And then you pressed –
PH: You pressed the bomb.
CB: Right.
PH: The pilot had to activate, had a switch to activate the, the –
CB: The release.
PH: The bomb aiming equipment.
CB: Yeah.
PH: But the bomb aimer was the one who opened the –
CB: Oh the bomb aimer equipment. Ok.
PH: Who did that?
CB: Ok. So you physically had to press the button for it to go.
PH: Correct. That’s visual bombing only.
CB: He, right, so on GH how did that happen?
PH: It was all done automatically.
CB: Ok.
PH: When the bomb –
CB: So effectively when the crosses merged.
PH: That’s right. Yeah.
CB: The lines cross.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Then it goes. Right.
PH: Correct.
CB: And it’s been programmed on the ground on the basis of what the wind –
PH: Yes. That’s right. Yeah.
CB: Is expected to be. Now what about circumstances where you have to approach at a different height for some reason? Would that happen? So you had a planned height of say forty thousand.
PH: Well I think on the GH side you’d have to throw it away because you you wouldn’t have the necessary coordinates you know. On the visual side we’d [play?] off the cuff.
CB: Right. Ok. So a lot of this is practical stuff in training.
PH: Yes.
CB: So Suez comes along.
PH: Yes.
CB: How did you get involved in that? What? Were you still with 61?
PH: Well I was never involved in the actual bombing of Egypt but I was involved in, I was in, I was at Nicosia and my crew were involved. My son was born and then they, they didn’t send me abroad. Our crew spent, George [Cram?], myself and a chap called oh, I should think Roger Atkinson, we were transiting carrying three, thousand pound bombs from the UK to Cyprus via Luqa.
CB: Right.
PH: It was a bit hairy. We had three thousand pound bombs on board.
CB: Makes a heavy landing does it?
PH: Yeah. Well of course they, I mean they were dropping, it was thousand pounders. The Canberra could carry thousand pounders of course and also nuclear weapons later on but originally the actual iron bombs were the thousand pound.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Which we used to drop, practice dropping on Filfla which is just off Malta. Big island off Malta.
CB: Right. So how many thousand pounders could it carry at one time?
PH: Three.
CB: Ok.
PH: Two and one.
CB: Right. Two side by side. Yeah and one behind or below.
PH: Below.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Below.
CB: Ok. Right. So we’re on 61 squadron and you’re occasionally going on your detachments.
PH: Yes.
CB: Where did you go after Wittering?
PH: Ah well what happened was I was on what was known as an eight and four at the time and when 61 squadron packed up I was, I only had about eighteen months to do in the air force [allegedly?] so I was posted to 58 squadron at, at Wyton as by that time they had, the squadrons had a full time adjutant. And I was posted there as the adjutant with no admin training [allegedly] but I was, but because it was Canberras again I did a lot of flying and I went to Christmas Island during the H bomb tests.
CB: Ok.
PH: It’s all in the book.
CB: Yeah. So the H bomb is what size in relation to the iron bombs of a thousand pound?
PH: I’ve got no idea. Never seen one.
CB: Oh you didn’t see one there.
PH: No.
CB: Ok.
PH: Well Wyton was PR you see.
CB: Right.
PH: It wasn’t, it wasn’t bombers, it was, we had PR7s.
CB: Ok. PR7s. So the photographic reconnaissance Mark 7s.
PH: Yes. That’s right.
CB: So what did, what did what did you do there?
PH: Well I was, my full time job was adjutant.
CB: Ok.
PH: Squadron adjutant. A chap called Colin Fell. Wing Commander Fell.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Nice chap. Ended up as an air commodore. Navigator. One of the, you know at that time one of the few navigator squadron commanders.
CB: Yeah. So how long were you at –?
PH: Eighteen months.
CB: Right. Then what?
PH: Well, I happened because I was the adjutant I always read the DCI, Defence Council Instructions and one came. I was into judo, I was a judo instructor and then and one of these DCI’s came around saying that there was vacancies to learn Japanese so I put my name down and I’m trying to think. [North?] Lewis. [North?] Lewis was the CO and he said, ‘Oh no,’ sort of thing but there was a caveat on the Defence Council Instructions saying that all applications had to be forwarded regardless of whether they were approved or not by the CO so mine was forwarded. I was called to London for an interview. Sat in front of this large group of men and as soon as I walked in and sat down they said, ‘Well of course we’re not, we’re not teaching Japanese.’ So I sort of almost got up to go and they said, ‘Sit down. Would you like to learn Chinese or Russian?’ And I said, ‘What’s the role?’ They said, ‘Well if you learn Chinese you go to Hong Kong for a couple years.’ And I was married at the time so, well I was married. ‘And if you learn Russian you go to the School of Slavonic and East European Studies in London and as I’d recently bought a house in Edgeware I thought I’ll do that because by then I’d accepted a –
CB: PC.
PH: A permanent commission.
CB: Right.
PH: So I went to the School of Slavonic and East European Studies for a year. That must have been about ‘58/59. I then went and stayed with a family in Paris for ten months. A Russian family. Emigre family. Did the Foreign Office interpreter’s exam and got a, I got a second class pass which is not bad really. I mean very few people get a first class pass. I then went to a place called Butzweilerhof in, in Germany.
CB: Germany.
PH: Cologne. Where for a time I was CO of the intercept, the intercept section.
CB: You were a squadron leader by now.
PH: No. Still a flight sergeant.
CB: Right.
PH: And from there I went back to flying on Victors at Marham, tankers. As navigator.
CB: Ok so –
PH: And then I was short toured deliberately by the, by, despite my, despite my AOC saying that, ‘He’s part of a crew, a five year crew,’ and I was only three years, I was short because of my Russian and I went to a unit called BRIXMIS in Berlin. British Commander in Chief’s Mission to the Group of Soviet Forces and I was an interpreter with the Soviet forces in Germany and met lots of Russian generals. And my boss was a chap called Gerry Dewhurst. Have you ever come across Gerry?
CB: So in practical terms what are you doing at brexmas, BRIXMAS?
PH: Sorry?
CB: What were you doing at BRIXMAS then?
PH: Spying.
CB: Right. So –
PH: In practical terms. We used to tour East Germany.
CB: In cars.
PH: In a car.
CB: Yeah.
PH: With cameras to make sure that they weren’t building up their forces.
CB: This was part of the agreement with the Russians.
PH: Correct. They had SOXMAS.
CB: They watched you and you watched them.
PH: Yeah. They had, they had a similar unit at a place called Bunde.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And the Americans and the French, we all had, I mean I got on very well with the Americans and the French and we used to, we used to you know talk to each other about where we were going to go and make sure we weren’t double you know. We made sure that we didn’t, I mean one stayed out all night sometimes on an airfield and God knows what.
CB: Didn’t [know]
PH: Because, see what happens was the Soviets, the Russians because East Germany was, you know, very delicate, sensitive they always put their new kit there. So, I mean, you know we had army tourers and air force tourers and we got some of the first photographs, good photographs of the MIG, the MIG 21J which was very early on. But I mean it’s surprising Janet, when I was doing the, when I became a volunteer of RAFVR and I was doing the air, air. Well analysing the air side because intelligence you try and pretend you’re the enemy really because you give your, your boss what you think the enemy is going to do so you put yourself in the enemy’s place. At one time the Russians or the East, sorry the Warsaw Pact had twenty eight divisions in East Germany. Twenty eight divisions, the Brits, the Brits had one, the Americans had one, the Germans had about four. Three or four. And the French had one and they had nearly three hundred aeroplanes, three hundred, sorry what am I talking about? Two thousand aeroplanes and I think we had about three hundred or four hundred. I mean when I used to do the briefings for the, for the war, you know, for what was it called? There was a –
CB: The war games.
PH: Wintex. Wintex was the big, they say the generals they’ll be at the, they’ll be at the coast in, they’ll be at the channel coast in four days. That was why you know they had the tactical nuclear weapons.
CB: Exactly. Yeah. Yeah.
PH: I mean you know that was the truth. There was no good, no good denying it. There was no way. You know.
CB: No. So you were doing that from ‘50/60.
PH: Well I did that from, let’s think. That must have been ‘67. ‘67 to ’70. Something like that.
CB: Ok. Right. Just –
PH: Then I came back to MOD and I was going to be posted to Uxbridge as gash supernumerary but a chap, I’m trying to think of his name in MOD, who I knew very well. He used to, he was a great fixer. He got me posted to the Foreign Liaison Section to finish my time in MOD and because I was a Russian speaker I was given the South American desk [laughs] of course.
CB: Good service logic isn’t it?
PH: Sorry?
CB: Good service logic.
PH: Yeah. Well I mean that was vacant and that was, you know, he got me in and I was quite pleased with it because I still met the Russians and more cocktail parties than you could shake a stick at and I’ll tell you a thing. The poorer the country the more ostentatious their cocktail parties and social events are. Some of these African countries that were starving their ambassadors used to throw these champagne fuelled caviar and Christ knows what, you know.
CB: Amazing. Right.
PH: And by then I was, and I was lucky enough to be asked if I wanted, when was leaving I was to ring a certain telephone number which I did and I got a job and I did another twenty two years with a, an organisation which I think the last letter of its number was five.
CB: I can’t think what on earth you’re talking about. Right [laughs] Right.
PH: Am I allowed to say these days?
CB: Yeah.
PH: At one time we weren’t.
CB: So –
PH: Which I thoroughly enjoyed.
CB: Yeah. The South American desk. In practical terms you were doing something useful but what was it?
PH: Liaising with anybody, any, I mean –
CB: Anybody in South America.
PH: No. No. Anybody, anybody across the board.
CB: Right.
PH: But I did, I remember one occasion that’s right. Yeah mainly South America but I mean you didn’t have to speak, they all spoke English anyway.
CB: Yeah.
PH: But I always remember I had to introduce new attaches to the chief of the air staff and I’m trying to think at the time who it was. [unclear] Oh dear. It will come to me in a moment and I know that the guy, the guy I introduced was Peruvian Air Force. He was lieutenant colonel, no lieutenant [stress] general and they kicked him out because obviously he was probably involved in some sort of coup. Jesus [Gabilondo?]. His name was General Jesus [Gabilondo?] and I remember I introduced him to the, said to the chief of the air staff who sort of almost said, ‘What.’ [laughs]. I said, ‘Sir, this is General Jesus [Gabilondo?].
CB: Yeah.
PH: Nice chap.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Flying Canberras ‘cause we’d sold Canberras to the Peruvians if I remember right.
CB: Absolutely. Yeah.
PH: So we did have something in common. Nice chap.
CB: Just going back –
PH: But that rank. I mean, you know, that incredible rank to be, to be a military attaché really.
CB: Yeah. Yeah. Just going back to your Victor times at Marham.
PH: Yes.
CB: So here we have a tanker squadron.
PH: Yes.
CB: So what were, you as the navigator in one of the aircraft there.
PH: Yes.
CB: How did that work? You were linking with [pause] nice picture on the wall.
PH: There I am in the –
CB: What was the typical day? You were up fuelling fighters.
PH: Well we were very very busy because what happened was the Valiant packed up as you know. The Victor was brought in in a hell of rush. In fact what I was initially on 55 squadron which only had the two point tanker.
CB: Right.
PH: They borrowed or stole or whatever it was from refuelling pods from the navy.
CB: Oh.
PH: Which were put on the wings.
CB: Right.
PH: And we did something called Operation Forthright which was flying between the UK and Cyprus to bring back, believe it or not, Lightnings that were stranded all around the Middle East ‘cause with the demise of the Valiant they couldn’t get back because as you know the Lightning, Lightning, the early Lightnings only had a range of about seventy bloody miles. They were terrible. Unless we, the lightning 6s were a bit better but I mean the original Lightnings had to be, they had to be refuelled as soon as they got airborne virtually.
CB: Yeah. Right.
PH: I mean they were designed to go up, shoot down the incoming and come back.
CB: And come back again. Yeah. Right.
PH: But that was Forthright. So we enjoyed that. We were doing a lot of flying. Unusuall. I mean I was doing something like sixty hours a month which is really double what the air force normally. I mean thirty hours used to be the norm wasn’t it really?
CB: So this is in two sections really. There’s the overseas deployment.
PH: Yes.
CB: And there is the UK. So on the UK you’re flying from Marham which is Norfolk.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Where are you flying and what are you doing?
PH: Well what we did mostly and I shall think of the name of it. What did you call it? Between the Wash and Newcastle and we used to refuel. They used to practice refuelling. We used to go around like that for about four hours.
CB: So you’re flying in an oblong shape are you?
PH: Yeah. I have the thing, just one moment
CB: And what are you refuelling? Only Lightnings?
PH: Anything.
CB: Only Lightnings or Americans.
PH: Let me just tell you in a moment. Let me look.
CB: Yeah. Ok. We’re just stopping, stopping just for a mo.
[Recording paused]
PH: For refuel.
CB: So you’re flying an elliptical circuit.
PH: That’s right.
CB: Effectively so that just, how does that work then?
PH: And we called it a Tow line.
CB: You called it tow line. And how did it work?
PH: Well you just, they called you up and said, you know, we, they knew we were there and the Lightnings from Leuchars or wherever. Coltishall. I think there were Lightnings at Coltishall. They knew we were there and for them to practice refuelling.
CB: Right.
PH: And we just, I mean it was quite boring. I mean just went around in this elliptical shape. As I said, tow line.
CB: So as the navigator what was your role in that?
PH: Virtually nothing because the guy doing the refuelling was the co-navigator. Two navigators in the Victor. One was the nav, one, I was the plotter and he was the other guy was the set up.
CB: Right.
PH: A chap called Pete [Hall?] and he was the set op around the radar but he also controlled the refuelling setup. I believe latterly they transferred it to the co-pilot.
CB: Right.
PH: But I mean in those days it was done by the –
CB: The nav radar.
PH: The nav. Nav radar. Nav radar. Yeah.
CB: Yeah ok. So did he have a means of looking backward?
PH: Yes. The telescope.
CB: They’d put a telescope in specifically for that.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Ok. So how did it work? So you’re flying straight and level. What sort of speed would you be flying for the refuelling?
PH: Well depending what you were refuelling. Normally about three hundred knots.
CB: Ok and so you’re straight and level for specifically a period.
PH: We’ll all the time straight and level. Well until you turn, you turn and come –
CB: Yeah.
PH: I mean the leg would take probably fifteen or twenty minutes.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Each –
CB: And what speed are you going?
PH: Well around I think.
CB: Three hundred knots you said.
PH: Yeah. Well no about two hundred and forty air speed.
CB: And, and height?
PH: Anything between thirty two and thirty eight thousand feet depending on the, how bumpy it was.
CB: Yeah.
PH: We would try and find you know the smoothest level we could, we would and then we’d settle down and they’d transmit what height we were at.
CB: ‘Cause in practical terms the air force system was to run a drogue line.
PH: That’s right.
CB: Effectively.
PH: Yeah.
CB: With a –
PH: He had, he had a nozzle.
CB: A nozzle in the back.
PH: And we had a drogue.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And that was it.
CB: Right.
PH: And once and it was, there was a set of rings and things and when it connected it wouldn’t float.
CB: It held it.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Yeah.
PH: But of course when you withdrew when it withdrew there was always a spurt of fuel came out you know which which could blind the pilot sometimes.
CB: Yeah.
PH: ‘Cause it could go on his windscreen.
CB: Yeah. Well yeah. So the fighter is coming up and getting fuel on.
PH: Correct.
CB: And is trying to negotiate the drogue.
PH: Correct.
CB: And –
PH: You had to fly, you had to fly –
CB: Into it.
PH: Depends where the drogue were. I think on the Lightning it was above them.
CB: His nozzle was above his head.
PH: I’m trying to think, I’m trying to think. What was the other one? We did refuel the odd one.
CB: Phantom.
PH: Phantoms, I think, yeah. Yeah.
CB: Buccaneer.
PH: Buccaneers. That’s the other one. Yes. Yes.
CB: Right.
PH: Buccaneers.
CB: What about the Americans? Did you do any of those?
PH: I personally, I didn’t but I know the squadron did eventually but the Americans had a different system you see.
CB: Yeah.
PH: The Americans –
CB: Theirs is a guided.
PH: They had a drogue operator who fed the drogue on to the –
CB: Yeah.
PH: On to the other aircraft.
CB: It was a long bar wasn’t it?
PH: Yeah.
CB: Yeah. Well is. Yeah. Ok. Right. And did you refuel other Victors occasionally?
PH: Eventually because as I pointed out originally it was only a two point tanker because they hadn’t, they hadn’t yet got the hoodoo. The hose drum unit.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Known as the hoodoo.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Which eventually was –
CB: In the centre.
PH: Fitted into the bomb bay. Once that was done because the wingspan of a bomber you couldn’t accommodate it on a wing –
CB: No.
PH: Refuelling pod but then oh yeah we did what we called mutual. Victor to Victor.
CB: And you could do two fighters at the same time.
PH: At a time.
CB: Could you?
PH: But only one large aircraft.
CB: Yeah. Ok.
PH: Other Victors we had Victor to Victor and then we had Victors to whatever was available.
CB: Ok. So that’s UK. Then when you went overseas how did that work? You were based in Cyprus or where were you?
PH: Normally in Cyprus yeah. That was, they were called Forthrights if I remember right. Operation Forthright. That was taking Lightnings backward and forwards between because we didn’t have Lightnings based permanently in Cyprus at that time they were always on detachment from the UK squadrons and they would be out there for a couple of months and then changed over.
CB: So would they fly the whole distance non-stop or would they pop into Southern France. In to Orange?
PH: Oh no we tried to take them all away.
CB: You did. Right.
PH: The trouble with the Lightning was as soon as it landed it bloody went u/s.
CB: Oh right. So you’d want to keep it airborne.
PH: So they kept it airborne [laughs] Yeah. I mean they, well it didn’t take, it only took about five or six hours to get to Cyprus from the UK.
CB: Sure. Yeah. Because they’re, they’re transiting quite fast.
PH: Yeah. I, yeah and I enjoyed being a nav because my responsibility was not just looking after the Victor but looking after the Lightnings as well just in case they had some form of malfunction like breaking a probe which did happen. They had to make sure that the refuelling, they had refuelling brackets enroute. I had to make sure the refuelling brackets, if something happened instead of dropping into the sea they could divert somewhere you know.
CB: So the refuelling bracket is a period, a space over the route.
PH: Yes.
CB: Certain areas where you would do it.
PH: These were pre-determined –
CB: Right.
PH: Between, you, you had a special map which had what they called refuelling brackets and that was where –
CB: Right.
PH: You actually did the refuelling.
CB: So were you stationed in Italy sometimes as part of the -?
PH: Say again.
CB: Would you sometimes have your Victor in Italy in order to be able to deal with the brackets.
PH: Personally no. I know that, that, no after I left the squadron because of, what’s his name, Mintov they had to use Sigonella in Italy but, because he, he banned the RAF from Luqa but we always used Luqa.
CB: Right.
PH: What happened was we would have on day one a Victor would go to Luqa.
CB: Yeah.
PH: On its own with a crew and that would be refuelled and everything ready and then on day two the Victor with its two Lightnings would take off from Marham. The Lightnings would join, go via Luqa. You’d call up when you were approaching Luqa. [cough] Excuse me. He would get airborne, take over your slot and you would then go into Luqa.
CB: Right.
PH: And depending on what was going on you might well stay there and do the same thing as he’d done the day before. Refuel. And the next pair through you would take on to Cyprus.
CB: Right.
PH: It was quite complicated. It was quite well thought out.
CB: Ok.
PH: And occasionally if we were going further we’d do a Victor to Victor refuelling at height because like, like the Lightning the Victor used nearly half its fuel getting to height.
CB: Yeah. So how long did it take to get up to height with a full –
PH: What? The Victor? Forty minutes.
CB: Did it?
PH: Lightning did it in three. [Laughs]
CB: Yes. [Laughs] Going to stop there for a mo.
[Recording paused]
CB: So we’re just re-starting. Are you due to have your lunch shortly?
PH: No. I’m ok.
CB: Ok.
PH: No problem. I’m eating this evening so I shall just –
CB: Right. Ok
PH: Have a cup of soup at lunchtime.
CB: Right. Ok. So one of the interesting things here is that, two things, first of all in the war the pilots who re-mustered to do other things maintained their wings.
PH: Oh I see.
CB: You didn’t.
PH: No. The law, the regulations state –
CB: How did you feel about that?
PH: You wear the brevvy of the job you are doing.
CB: Yeah. So how did you feel about that?
PH: Well as a youngster I was a bit miffed but you know it was a fact of life. You do as you were told.
CB: And once you got in to being a navigator.
PH: I enjoyed it very much. The navigator on Victors was the best job in the air force.
CB: In what way?
PH: On tankers.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Well because you were in control really. I mean the pilots did exactly what you told them. I mean they did anyway but I mean in that particular context I mean, you were, the two navs ran the operation completely.
CB: ‘Cause you’re running a pattern.
PH: Yes.
CB: And you’re also doing a task that is very intricate.
PH: Correct.
CB: Right.
PH: Not like sitting on your backside you know on QRA for God knows how long waiting for the –
CB: Yeah.
PH: We did do a QRA at one time. The Victor tankers because of the way we could stay airborne for quite a long while. There was a phase that the NATO went through where they were simulating that all the, the, shall we say the, let’s get the, war headquarters etcetera had all been wiped out by the Warsaw Pact and by getting a tanker airborne with a senior officer in it he was the, he was the one who could control what was going on and we did that for about a year and that was, that was a type of QRA where you set the aircraft sat at the end of the runway and you were in a caravan in your flying kit ready to get airborne if you were told.
CB: Yeah
PH: We did, we did simulate it once or twice but it never came to anything.
CB: Just to –
PH: The concept was you’d end up with a group captain sort of determining whether or not you were going to obliterate bloody Moscow, you know, quite frankly.
CB: Right. So just to clarify that. QRA is Quick Reaction Alert.
PH: Reaction alert. Yes.
CB: You’ve got a bunch of aircraft at the end of the runway.
PH: Correct.
CB: That can, can –
PH: Get airborne –
CB: Start off.
PH: In three or four minutes. That’s right.
CB: And move quickly.
PH: Correct.
CB: Yeah. Ok. Next bit is the difference between the wartime experience with the family and peacetime is that wartime the families were banned from the airfield and its environment.
PH: Yes.
CB: But in peacetime.
PH: Oh yeah. We lived in quarters.
CB: You had quarters. So what was it like -
PH: Yes.
CB: For the family?
PH: Well enjoyable. I mean we enjoyed living on, on station. Plenty going on. Social life in the officer’s mess you know. Kids went to decent schools.
CB: So, in Germany the children –
PH: My oldest son was at boarding school when we were in Germany.
CB: Where was he at school?
PH: He was at Wymondham College.
CB: Oh yes. Yeah.
PH: But the others were with us because my last son Anthony was born in ‘64. By that time we were back in the UK.
CB: Right.
PH: Semi permanently.
CB: Right. So the others didn’t go away to school.
PH: No. Not really. They stayed with us. ‘Cause in Germany the schooling was quite good. The British education system was quite what they called –
CB: Yeah.
PH: BF, British Forces.
CB: BFPO.
PH: No. Yeah. British Forces education. BFES or something.
CB: Education yeah. Ok and on the airfields what sort of, what were the quarters like?
PH: Cold [laughs]. Cold. At Marham we didn’t have central heating and we, we couldn’t use the dining room ‘cause it faced, faced north east and you know when you’ve got that wind in from Norway or the North Sea all you had was a radiator or something you know. No central heating.
CB: Electric radiator.
PH: Yeah. Something like that.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Yeah.
CB: Right. But the quality of the building and the furniture was ok was it?
PH: As far as we were concerned they were ok, you know.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Oh no. That’s right. Marham. Yeah, that’s right. No. At Marham we had a lounge which had a door directly into the lounge which if you opened it you stepped into the mud in the garden.
CB: Oh.
PH: And I’m told, we were told that it was an architect had made a note for a door instead of a window. It should have been a window but in fact they put a door in there for some unknown reason. I mean who would have a door directly in to the lounge? I mean we had a front door and a back door. I mean they were nice quarters. They were but they were cold. These days of course they’ve all got central heating but in those days there was no such thing.
CB: No. So these are all traditional airfields. Expansion period airfields.
PH: That’s right yeah.
CB: The ones you were based in.
PH: Marham. We weren’t in quarters.
CB: Wittering.
PH: We lived on a caravan sight at Upwood and at Wittering. We had a caravan there.
CB: Oh. Because the quarters were all full were they? The quarters were full?
PH: Yes they [might have been?]. I was fairly junior at the time, you see.
CB: Yeah.
PH: There used to be a waiting list.
CB: Yeah.
PH: But then you got to a frozen list eventually.
CB: Right.
PH: If you were lucky.
CB: And in Germany what were the quarters like there?
PH: Very good. Excellent. Central heating. The lot. My wife said to me after we’d lived in one of those, ‘When you leave the air force Pete I’ll live in a shed but it’ll have to be bloody centrally heated.’ [Laughs] Having been in quarters in the UK which were bloody freezing you know.
CB: So in Germany what was the life like there?
PH: Excellent. Local overseas allowance and all sorts of things you know.
CB: And did you, was everything centred on the airfield or did you tend to get out much?
PH: I wasn’t flying in Germany.
CB: No.
PH: They were both were ground tours.
CB: I was wondering if you got out in to the hinterland much.
PH: I did in, in Berlin. Yeah. I was touring East Germany.
CB: Yeah.
PH: My wife often said our tour in Berlin was, our three year tour was the best ten years of our lives. The social life was incredible.
CB: Yeah.
PH: I mean I was almost a diplomat you see.
CB: Yeah.
PH: Virtually had diplomatic immunity. And I mean you know it was very difficult. The Americans were always throwing enormous parties, you know. My kids loved going to the Americans. They used to have forty gallon bloody drums of ice filled with coca cola and Christ knows what you know. Just helped yourself.
CB: Yeah. Extravagant with everything.
PH: Absolutely.
CB: But very hospitable.
PH: Absolutely. Yes. Very difficult to, to reciprocate.
CB: Yeah. And on a professional front then how did that work?
PH: I’m not with you.
CB: Well from the air force and intelligence point of view how did the working together –
PH: We were told by –
CB: Operate.
PH: RAF Germany that the intelligence we produced was invaluable. I think I said we got the first pictures of the new MIG 21J.
CB: Yeah.
PH: All the new tanks [unclear] yeah.
CB: So in when you went out on these sorties, forays in to East Germany you weren’t staying in airfields there ‘cause they didn’t let, you were driving around all the time were you?
PH: Well no. You camped up with luck. If you get in undetected on the landing side of an airfield.
CB: Right.
PH: Which, of which one had heard there was particular interest.
CB: Right.
PH: ‘Cause what you were after was photography.
CB: Yeah.
PH: And especially if an aircraft had got its gear down and its undercarriage open and then it’s you know the technical boys can tell a lot from that apparently, you know.
CB: Right. Yeah. Good. Ok. I’ll just stop there again thank you.
[Recording paused]
CB: So you’re out in East Germany winter and summer so –
PH: Yeah.
CB: What sort of things was that like?
PH: Well go back to square one. What you’ve got to appreciate is that the west did not recognise the east. The Soviets called it the Democratic Republic of East Germany. The west called it the Soviet Occupied Zone of Germany and this was the protocol.
CB: Right.
PH: And you know the diplomacy sometimes is childish because I would have to go sometimes to a meeting because we’d been called because of an infringement or something and they’d produce this protocol which said so and so so and so happened in the Democratic Republic of East Germany which I then had to cross out and write Russian Occupied Zone of East Germany and initial it and then they would cross it out [laughs]. But that was, that was the situation. So basically if you got into trouble in East Germany we weren’t allowed to discuss it with the, with the Volkspolizei. We had to call for a Russian officer. And that was the situation.
CB: So were these engineered incidents were they?
PH: Oh yeah. Absolutely yeah they I mean they, they I mean we would take pictures. We used to be, I used to have one and I lost it unfortunately when I moved. A big sign said, what was it -? “Presence of Foreign Liaison Missions Forbidden” in German and in Russian and in English [ unclear] and if you went [?] what we would do, quite often we would take the sign down and throw it in the nearest bloody river. If you wanted to get near to an airfield. Which they had no right to do you see.
CB: Right.
PH: Allegedly. But they’d come and put another one up and then you’d get, you’d get nicked you know by the Russians because you were behind the sign as it were you know and then there would be a protest and that was where I would have to go with my boss because there had been a protest that flight lieutenant, always referred to me you know, Flight Lieutenant Hearmon was caught speeding at such and such a place and I’d have to deny it you know and say no, it wasn’t true you know but quite often it was true but sometimes it wasn’t. It was just fabricated by the Volkspolizei, the East German police. It was quite amusing at times. Yeah.
CB: So you’d camp out.
PH: Oh yeah. I had a little tent and a very good sleeping bag. An army sleeping bag. You know one of those ones that zips up with arms.
CB: Oh right.
PH: You know the sort I mean?
CB: Yeah. Yeah. So it was quite cold sometimes.
PH: Yeah. Oh yeah but you know one slept ok. You’d wake up sometimes with ice all over your bloody face.
CB: So how low would the temperature go?
PH: Minus twenty two. I think that was the lowest one we ever had.
CB: Summertime. What about summertime?
PH: Well that would be ok. It would be hot.
CB: But not too hot.
PH: No. No. You’d do about one, you’d do about two tours a month. That was all because you had to write everything up as well you know and that could take two or three days.
CB: So you’d come back. You’d write things up. How did the debrief go?
PH: Well the debrief was done by you. I mean it was all, it was a question of matching up. You would give a narrative about the photographs etcetera etcetera and then that was all sent. It was looked at by our own ops officers. Usually an army chap and then it would go to, what do you call it? RAFG. Royal Air Force Germany. Second ATAF intelligence. Yeah.
CB: So were you verbally debriefed by your seniors after these trips?
PH: No. Not really. Just asked, ‘How did it go?’ Because you know they might look at your report before it went off but you know they knew what you’d, they trusted you shall we say.
CB: Yeah and you were able to practice your Russian regularly were you?
PH: Yes. Yes.
CB: So you got even more proficient.
PH: I did at one time but don’t forget we’re now talking about twenty, thirty years ago.
CB: Sure. Yeah. So when you eventually retired.
PH: Yes.
CB: What did you do?
PH: I went for an organisation that’s number ends in 5.
CB: Yes.
PH: For twenty odd years.
CB: And after that what did you do?
PH: Retired [laughs]
CB: Ok. To Milton Keynes.
PH: Yes. Well we’d already moved to Milton Keynes while I was still working in MOD. Well we lived in Amersham and we had quite an old house that wasn’t double glazed, wasn’t double skinned and it was quite cold and we couldn’t afford, well the new houses they were building in Amersham at that time I should think that the lounge was about that size, you know. Remember they went through a phase of building houses with rooms that I mean I had four kids. We couldn’t have all get in one room together.
CB: Crazy.
PH: I mean they showed you around and they had undersized beds and undersized wardrobes and Christ knows what in the various rooms because they were, they were tiny. Whereas the house we had in Amersham was, Milton Keynes was very comfortable. I like a decent sized room.
CB: Yeah.
PH: I’m a, I mean this room’s quite pleasant isn’t it, really?
CB: Yeah.
PH: Nice aspect.
CB: This is brilliant. Yeah.
PH: That balcony goes all the way around by the way.
CB: Right. And your children they left school. Then what? Any, any of them go in the forces?
PH: My eldest son went in the army for a while but then he became a policeman. He retired. He retired three years ago as a policeman. He works for an organisation that is on contract to the Home Office escorting undesirables back to their own countries. He’s been, he’s been all over the world. China, Italy, Peru. Oh God. And if you excuse me I’ll tell you. They took this rather, what’s his name, he was a China man who didn’t want to go back so he was being a bloody nuisance and they found, realised afterwards why he didn’t want to go back. He was wanted in China for something or other, being deported, escorted, they had to go via Moscow. They got to Beijing and Pete, he was in handcuffs ‘cause there were two of them with this guy in the middle in handcuffs and they got to, got to Beijing and they were met by a Chinese police lieutenant who spoke English. He’d worked, he’d served in the UK or something and he came out and he said, ‘Mr Hearmon. Yes we’ll take him.’ Pete said to him, ‘Look,’ he said, ‘He’s been a hell of a problem. We’re quite happy to leave you the handcuffs. Here’s the keys.’ ‘No. No. No. No. No.’ And he said something to this chap who went and sat meekly in a corner. And Pete said, ‘What did you say to him?’ He said to him, ‘If you don’t go and sit down and behave yourself I’ll f***ing shoot you,’ and he said, ‘I meant it Mr Hearmon and he knew I meant it.’
CB: How amusing.
PH: ’Cause the Chinese, you know.
CB: Yeah. Yeah.
PH: I mean they’d charge, they’d charge the family for the bullet or something.
CB: What did the others do?
PH: Sorry?
CB: What did the other children do?
PH: Oh well my second, well my second daughter is retired. She lives in Lincoln. My other son is also retired. He’s married to a Channel Islander and lives in Jersey. My youngest son is the only one who’s working. He’s not married and he lives in London and he’s, he comes and sees me about once every three weeks. He works for the local council. He’s in to environmental things of some sort.
CB: Right. Right.
PH: But even he’s, I mean he was born in, let’s see, ‘52, ‘56 ‘64 so I mean he’s coming up to his fifties quite soon.
CB: Your eldest son, what did he do when he was in the forces?
PH: Sorry?
CB: Your eldest son. What did he do when he went in the forces what did he do in the army?
PH: I’ve no idea. He was just in the infantry. That was all. He was just a soldier and then when he left he joined the air force, er joined the police and did twenty eight years or something in the police.
CB: Right.
PH: And he wasn’t an officer. He was just a soldier of some sort.
CB: We’ve had a really interesting discussion. Thank you very much indeed.
PH: Good.
CB: And we’ll stop it there.
PH: Good.
[Recording paused]
CB: When you were at Driffield.
PH: When I was at Driffield.
CB: Yeah.
PH: We had an instructor there called Flight Sergeant [Chalky]. This is God’s honest truth. Flight Sergeant [Chalky] double DSO DFC. Been a wing commander during the war and a friend of mine said he was, he was at the, he was the adjutant. He was in the air force. He was a National Serviceman but he became a navigator eventually as a regular but he went out. At the time he was in the secretarial branch and he was the adjutant of the reselection unit in MOD and when people, they were recruiting people back into the air force and they offered him the lowest thing they could get away with you know and this guy apparently had gone to, had gone to MOD and they said come back but we can only make you a flight sergeant. He accepted and Dave Kinsey said he should never have done because what he should have done was, ‘You must be joking.’ Gone away. A fortnight letter he’d have got a letter saying we’ve changed our mind you can come back as a flight lieutenant.
CB: Yeah.
PH: But he said yes. He was obviously desperate to get back and he was a, and he, the sad thing was he was killed as a result of a mid-air collision at Driffield at the time.
CB: Was he?
PH: Yes. And he’d gone through the war as a DSO double, wing commander double DSO. And we had DFCs and other things you know.
CB: Yeah. Pilot.
PH: Pilot yeah. Oh yeah. No. He was an instructor.
CB: I think one of the sad situations I don’t know what you’d call it the number of people who actually who were killed after the war in accidents.
PH: Well don’t forget when I joined the air force in ‘51 still there was an awful lot of ex-wartime guys still around you know with double, double medal ribbon you know. DFCs and God knows what. I mean when I was at Marham the wing commander flying there Mike Hunt, that’s right, yeah I think he was a DSO DFC you know. He’d been, he ended up as station commander at Leuchar I think at one time.
CB: Amazing.
PH: I can remember as I say at Marham there were certainly, no at , sorry there were certainly guys, Tubby Oates who took over the, I think it was Tubby Oakes, a name like that, took over 148 squadron as a wing commander. He was ex-wartime you know. Well decorated. DSOs and God knows what.
CB: Right. I think that covers a lot. Thank you.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Peter Charles Hearmon
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-03-17
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AHearmonPC1600317
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Second generation
Format
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01:17:26 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Peter was born in London and evacuated for part of the war. For National Service, he was taken on by the Air Force for a short time engagement and subsequently accepted a permanent commission.
After RAF Padgate, Peter was selected as pilot/gunner/engineer at RAF Hornchurch. He was posted to Number 4 Initial Training School at RAF Cranwell and then went to RAF Feltwell. He trained on Prentices and Harvards and became a pilot. RAF Driffield followed and Meteors. Afterwards at RAF Chivenor, Peter flew Vampires, which he did not particularly like.
Peter re-trained and received his navigator brevet at RAF Hullavington. He took a holding post at RAF St Mawgan, the Maritime Reconnaissance School. He trained at RAF Lindholme, Bomber Command Bombing School, on Canberras before joining 61 Squadron at RAF Wittering. He was at RAF Wittering for a year before they went to RAF Upwood.
Peter describes his overseas detachments, and outlines and contrasts visual bombing and Gee-H bombing.
For the last 18 months, he was posted to 58 Squadron at RAF Wyton as adjutant. He flew the PR.7 variant of the Canberra for photographic reconnaissance.
Peter then learnt Russian and passed the Foreign Office interpreters’ exam. He went back to fly Victors at RAF Marham as a navigator. Peter talks of Operation Forthright, flying between the UK and Cyprus bringing back Lightnings. In the UK, they practised refuelling.
Peter subsequently went to the British Commanders-in-Chief Mission to the Soviet Forces in Berlin. He took photographs in East Germany, particularly of airfields. He then went to the Ministry of Defence South American desk and worked for the Security Services before retirement.
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Devon
England--Lincolnshire
England--Yorkshire
England--Norfolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Cheshire
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany
Russia (Federation)
Cyprus
Contributor
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Sally Coulter
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
61 Squadron
aerial photograph
aircrew
fuelling
Gee
Harvard
Meteor
military living conditions
military service conditions
navigator
perimeter track
pilot
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Chivenor
RAF Cranwell
RAF Driffield
RAF Feltwell
RAF Hornchurch
RAF Hullavington
RAF Lindholme
RAF Marham
RAF Padgate
RAF St Mawgan
RAF Upwood
RAF Wittering
RAF Wyton
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/978/11389/AMarshallJ180116.1.mp3
937541350d7b0cdb88fee6af6c8323f8
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Marshall, Jack
J Marshall
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Flying Officer Jack Marshall DFC (b.1920, 391865 Royal New Zealand Air Force). He flew operations as an air gunner with 115 and 7 Squadron Pathfinders.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-01-16
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Marshall, J
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
GT: This is Tuesday, the 16th of January 2018, and I am at the home of Mr. Jack Marshall, born 1st August 1920 in London, England. RNZAF air gunner, NZ391865, flying officer in Christchurch, New Zealand. Jack joined the RNZAF in 1939, trained as an air gunner in Levin, New Zealand, and he completed a tour of ops on 115 Squadron in Wellingtons, and another tour on 7 Squadron PFF in Stirlings as a tail gunner. Jack was awarded the DFC in 1943, and returned to New Zealand in November 1943. Jack has completed numerous interviews, and they feature on the internet and his story is widely told. Thank you Jack, thank you for allowing me to come and have a chat with you
JM: It’s a pleasure.
GT: And would you, would you please give us some- A little bit of background of you joining in the RNZAF here in New Zealand, of course you being from England?
JM: I came out to New Zealand in 1937, and we, we’d landed up in Napier, and in those- At that age it was very difficult to find a job, but I finished up with the gentleman’s club in Napier as a steward, and I was only there a couple of years when they war broke, that was from ‘37 to ‘39, and when I could see there was definitely going to be a war, I decided to rush up the street and join the local- Join the air force. We went into Levin in [unclear] just before Christmas, about Nov- Sometime in November ‘39, we took off on the ship for England, I think either late January, early February. We arrived in- I don’t know what time we arrived in England, and we went to a place called Uxbridge where we did all our foot slogging and where they got asked colonial interline[?], and then from there we were, we were sent to our OTU’s, operational training units, where we had our basic training, learning how to strip a Browning gun down and put it together again, that sort of thing, and then finally we were, we were set off to our squadrons. I finished up with 115 Squadron in Marham, in Norfolk, and did my first tour there. I’m not quite sure just how many trips I did from Marham but, after completing my tour out from Marham, I then went to OTU at Bassingbourn, did a stretch there as a, as an instructor, and then went on back onto ops with 7 Squadron, just out of Oakington, that’s in Cambridgeshire, and I did the rest of my trips, which finally amounted to forty-six. There you are, why did we survive forty-six? No, I have no idea [chuckles]. Some went down on their first trip, amazing.
GT: And for the Wellingtons, for the tour on the Wellingtons there, you, you- Have you mentioned to me a very famous- The chap Fraser Barron.
JM: Oh, no that was on my second tour, Stirlings. That’s Fraser Barron, yes, he’s a wonderful guy, a wonderful pilot, and we had a wonderful navigator. Possibly one- Two reasons why we survived [chuckles].
GT: And unfortunately, though he was, he was killed in the air, I believe you said?
JM: Fraser unfortunately was on a trip over Le Mans in France after the second front, and he- Very unfortunately he collided with one of our own aircraft, and I believe it was from our squadron, and the two of them blew up, and I would say there was very, very little left of them, and my wife and I were in France in 2002, and we visited the grave and I have a strong feeling that there was very little in the grave, after such an explosion as that. Anyway, we paid our respects to Fraser.
GT: Brilliant. So, the tour for- You did with 115, was there anything special that you- That happened on your trips there?
JM: Yes, we had one or two hairy, hairy days. One of them was a trip to Genoa in Italy, we did three in a row to Genoa, and on one of them, we- Approaching the alps on the way out, we iced up very badly and Fraser the skipper, said- Talking to Bob the navigator and he said, ‘Bob’, he said, ‘We’re not going to get over the alps’, he said, ‘We’re icing up to badly’. So he said, ‘Well, looks as if we’re going to have to turn round and go home’. Bob pipes up and said, ‘No, well if we can’t go over the alps’, he said, ‘We’ll go through them’, and I’m sitting in the tower thinking, go through them, what’s he talking about? Anyway, he knew exactly where we were, he knew exactly where this big pass was, and we motored up alongside the alps for, I don’t know, probably fifteen or twenty minutes, something like that, and finally found this pass, a huge pass, and I always remember it because way up high on the left-hand side of the pass was this floodlit building, which obviously was a monastery, they were just letting us know that it wasn’t a fortification. So anyway, we got to Genoa, we did our bombing in the shipping in the harbour there, and of course without the bomb, bomb load we were able to come back over the alps this time, and we arrived back at our base and we found that we were the only aircraft in the air that- Anywhere near our base, we got immediate permission to land, and as we touched down, the tail went back down, three of the engines cut on us [chuckles] and- Which obviously we would never- We- If we hadn’t made a decent landing, we’d never have made it. Next morning, we were talking to the ground crew and they- We- They said to us that we had- They reckoned we had about three or four minutes fuel left. So, if we hadn’t made a decent landing, we certainly would never have got round for another one [chuckles].
GT: Astonishing, and you had an incident of a night fighter attacking you that-
JM: Ah yes. We were attacked by two air- Two fighters. The first was a Junkers 88, and he came in with a long burst and disappeared completely, we didn’t see him again. Second one came in was a 109, and he also gave us a very long burst as he came in underneath, which was their, their usual method of attack. He disappeared for a few- A minute or two, and then next minute I'm watching out for him and in the meantime, I find that my turret wouldn’t operate and me guns wouldn’t operate, he’d obviously severed out hydraulics and there he was at the dead stern of me, large as life, and I thought Jack, this is it, you’ve had it this time, and all of a sudden he just peeled off and disappeared, and the only thing we can think, or I can think, is that he had given us such a long burst, and been in combat before us and then when he came in dead as stern of us he had nothing left. How lucky can you be? [Chuckles]
GT: Very lucky indeed. You- Did you have a choice to be an air gunner, or was that what you went into to achieve?
JM: The reason I became an air gunner was they, they needed more air gunners than they do pilots for a start, or navigators, and they were short of gunners and they asked for volunteers, they put a notice on the board calling for us to volunteer to be gunners. So, I thought, why not? [Chuckles]
GT: You were awarded your DFC for you work? What were you awarded your DFC particularly for?
JM: That’s a good question. I, I’ve never really fully understood that, except that I was lucky enough to survive forty-six, and also, I volunteered for the last one, I- Actually I had- I really finished with forty-five, but they had an aircraft on the tarmac with a full crew except a gunner, and they asked me if I'd volunteer and I did, I volunteered the forty-sixth trip. So, whether that had anything to do with it, I don’t know. But I had someone approach me, not so long ago at the, at the village here and he said, ‘By the way’, he said, ‘Not many gunners got the DFC, did they?’, and being honest I had never even thought about it.
GT: Well, I have the citation for your DFC, it’s dated 12th April 1943, from 7 PFF Squadron, RAF Stirlings, ‘This officer has at all times displayed a keenness and desire to engage the enemy which is most praiseworthy. His dependability and conscience, completion of his duties render him a valuable member of aircrew. Throughout a long and successful operational career, he has set a high standard of reliability and enthusiasm’. So, you obviously well deserved the award, for sure.
JM: Fair enough [chuckles]. Well, they thought so.
GT: Now you also were shot down and spent some time in the water you tell me?
JM: Oh, that was on the first tour with Wellingtons. We’d been to Berlin, on the way back we were, we were south of- Somewhere south of Hamburg, and we got, we got hit, and we’d lost the port engine I think it was, and- Anyway, we struggled on and we got forty miles off Great Yarmouth and we finally had to ditch. Before that as we got- Reached the Dutch coast, we cruised on down to Dutch coast with the idea of landing on the beach- On the beach there, but we didn’t like the idea of the gunning placements, of the concrete embarkments, or the barbed wire and what have you. So, we decided to try and get home, we knew weren’t going to make it, but we thought we might get near enough to the English shore to be picked up in a hurry. Anyway, we got forty miles off Great Yarmouth, so we finally ditched the aircraft. Fortunately, the skipper made a perfect sea landing, which is not always easy, and it was a heavy swell at the time, so he’d- His timing was perfect. We made a very good landing, the aircraft filled full of water straight away, and I went out through the astrodome, the others went out through the front cockpit, and when I got out, the dinghy was floating away from the, the aircraft and I walked across the wing and I realised that there’s a possibility that the dinghy was going to be washed well away from me, so I thought well here goes, so I, I jumped straight into the water and fortunately the dinghy came back onto me and they- The boys grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me into the dinghy. So that was the beginning of it. So, during the [unclear] in the dinghy, a Wellington came out, evidently vectored to us from, from the base, came out and had a look at us, we fired a very cart at him just to make sure he, he had seen us. He circled us for- Probably for forty, fifty minutes, or maybe an hour and then he disappeared and another one took his place, and this went on during the day. Were sometimes quite long periods between visits, and then finally at the end of the fifteenth or sixteenth hour, the HMT Pelton. a trawler, a fishing trawler- These fishing trawlers that normally, in peacetime of course, did fishing trips, they weren’t able to do this during the war, so they used them for mine laying, they used to drop these magnetic mines over in the [unclear] area and this one, HMT Pelton, was vectored onto us from the base and they finally drew up alongside of us, much to our relief, and I can remember the- These couple of burly sailors leaning over the side of the ship, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling me over onto the deck like a wet fish, and we just lay there because we’d completely lost the use of our legs, and they were very, very good to us they- I remember they put a rope round our- Round us, and they lowered us down a very steep companionway into the engine room, and they got us a bucket of water each, which was steam heated and we stripped right off and poured this bucket of water all over us and washed all the salt, urine and what have you off us, and then they brought us pyjamas which must’ve been theirs and they tucked us up in their bunks and next, next thing we’re all fast asleep, I went off like a light. And next thing is, we arrive in Great Yarmouth alongside the wharf there- Oh, during the, during the night, a royal air force rescue launch came tearing out and wanted to take us on board and take us back to base, and the skipper, due to the heavy swell refused to, to do a transfer. So we were left alone until we got into, into Great Yarmouth. From there we were taken into the naval sick quarters and- Where we were given us a meal and another lot of pyjamas and we were tucked up for the night, in the hospital. Next morning, we were given breakfast and the truck arrived for- Pick us up from the base and we all climbed aboard the truck and went back to our base. That was the end of that [chuckles]. Incidentally, the dinghy was lying on the wharf, and I don’t know where I got the knife from, but I got a hold of a knife from somewhere, and I cut myself out a souvenir out of the dinghy, because it actually got punctured while we were trying to get it away from the aircraft it- We, we lost the outer skin, fortunately we did have two skins, an inner and outer, reason for that was because we had an old dinghy and evidently all the new dinghies were single skin, and I have a letter from the Irving[?] people that made the dinghies, I have a letter from them congratulating on our survival and being so lucky to have had an, an old dinghy [chuckles].
GT: So that claims you for a member of the goldfish club?
JM: That’s right, made us a member of the goldfish club.
GT: Fascinating, fascinating for the- Your survival, and did you have a crew of five or six at the time?
JM: Seven, oh sorry, no, no, si- Wellington, we had-
GT: Did you have a second dicky? Or a second pilot?
JM: No, we had five, I think. Used to have six, we used to carry two pilots but they dropped the second pilot. Losing too many.
GT: I only asked that ‘cause there’s a comment there about- That was 15th of November 1940-
JM: That’s right.
GT: - on 115 Squadron, Wellington, and when returning from a raid on Berlin, you and the crew, except the second pilot, were picked up by Her Majesty’s trawler Pelton at about eighteen-hundred hours. During his rest tour, you were an instructor on 11 OTU, which was in Wellingtons and 11 OTU was Westcott?
JM: That’s right, it was, it was while we’re on the OTU that we did those two-thousand bomber raids. I did Cologne and Essen.
GT: So, were they included in your, your log books as operations, official ops?
JM: Yes, yeah, matter of fact I did three, Cologne, Essen, and Bremen.
GT: So effectively you flew in three units?
JM: Yeah, that’s the bomber- Thousand bomber raids. That was an extreme effort on the part of the RAF, they, they were using OTU aircraft as well as normal squadron aircraft
GT: So, were the rest of your crew qualified personnel? Or were they-
JM: No, they were all-
GT: Students?
JM: They were all green horns like me.
GT: Yeah.
JM: [Chuckles] But I wasn’t-
GT: You’d done a tour.
JM: At that time, I was on my- In between my two tours, I was instructor.
GT: Fabulous. So, did- Did you have any reservations, was- The war was in full flight at that time and, did-
JM: About survival you mean?
GT: Yeah, yeah.
JM: No, I, I schooled myself not to even contemplate the idea of it. I just- From that angle I went blank, and I never ever thought that I wouldn’t survive, never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t survive, that was the only way to get though.
GT: Were there any chaps that you recall that didn’t want to fly again?
JM: I don’t doubt there were quite a few that perhaps after their first tour pulled out. I could’ve pulled out, after the ditching I could've pulled out too, I could’ve- What was it? The lack of moral fibre?
GT: LMF.
JM: I would’ve been accused of that, I would’ve been- I'd have gone as an instructor for the rest of the war. But I didn’t, I, I went back into PFF.
GT: So, you asked for the PFF role?
JM: Yes, I did. Actually, it was quite funny how that happened, they were queuing up- Crewing up for PFF and I approached a Wing Commander Olsen, I rather looked- Liked the look of him, big fella. He became the, he became the com- Chief of air staff in New Zealand for a while. Anyway, he said, ‘Ah, I’m sorry’, he said, ‘I’ve got a full crew’, but he said, ‘I believe that fella over there, Fraser Barron he’s looking for a gunner I believe'. So, I said, ‘Oh thanks’, and I tore across the Fraser and I said, ‘Believe you’re looking for a tail gunner’, he said, ‘Yes’, I said, ‘Well you’ve got one’ [laughs].
GT: He had to accept you then, yeah.
JM: Yeah, we got on very well together anyway, we were the only two Kiwi’s on the aircraft actually. So, we got on very well, used to go into town with and- I always remember when he got his DSO, he- Well he had- Already had his DFM and DFC up, and he was very modest sort of a guy and he got- He wanted me to go into town with him ‘cause he was so embarrassed [laughs].
GT: So did you, did you like the Stirling?
JM: Yes, loved it. It’s a very nice aircraft. It lacked a bit of speed in comparison to the Lancaster, but- And it- I believe the Lanc carried a much- Quite a bit bigger bomb load. Also, it had larger wings, strange to say. But-
GT: Could they have made the Stirling better?
JM: It was better all round, yes.
GT: It was better than the Lancaster?
JM: Oh sorry, no, the Lancaster. The Lancaster was better all round, although I never flew in one, but I’m just going on information.
GT: And you, you left 7 Squadron just as the Lancasters were coming in?
JM: The first two arrived the day I pulled out, and I, I rushed down to have a quick look through one, and I had to be quick ‘cause there was a truck waiting for me to take me to the railway station [chuckles], I was going down to Leigh-on-Sea to join my wife.
GT: So they were pretty keen to, to- Once you’d finished your second tour to send you back to New Zealand, were they? Or did you stay in the UK for a while?
JM: No, we- I'd just done what you might call embarkation leave, and- One of the things I've never understood, why I got married while the war was on, it was a stupid thing to do and I’m surprised her father allowed us to, but he did [laughs]. Anyway, she was a wonderful, wonderful person my wife, we had seventy-three years together.
GT: Wonderful.
JM: Yeah, fantastic, very clever too, very, very talented.
GT: And you, you came back to New Zealand and where did you, you start from there? Nelson, Christchurch? Where did you move?
JM: Nelson.
GT: And you had a family?
JM: Actually my, my brother had a biscuit business in Nelson which unfortunately went, went bung eventually, but I was supposed to join him in the biscuit manufacturing business, but that never happened [chuckles].
GT: And you’ve had, your family obviously now since then, sons, daughters?
JM: Yeah, we’ve got a son and twin daughters, yes. Tony is, I think, seventy-three, seventy-two or seventy-three, and the girls- He's seventy-two I think, the girls are sixty-eight. Twin, twin girls [chuckles] yeah.
GT: Fabulous, so you, you’ve been telling me you’ve been interviewed a lot for your, your wartime exploits.
JM: Yes, I have, yes, I have.
GT: Who has interviewed you then? Newspapers, or television?
JM: Books and magazines mostly, I’ll show them to you.
GT: Yep certainly, and that’s why for the purpose of our interview here, Jake, your story has obviously been well documented, so we’re going to refer the International Bomber Command Centre to your- The interviews and the stories that have been said to you, which will give in a lot more detail your, your time with, particularly the RAF and the RNZAF, so that’s, that’s fascinating for us to know. Now, as far as your time military wise, was, was there anything you thought that they could’ve done better? Or, they were dealing with the best they could, with what they were given?
JM: No not really, we were well- We were reasonably well fed, I mean, not large meals but we had, you know, bacon and eggs, and that sort of thing which the civilians got very little of, if any. We were looked after with cigarettes and chocolates and things like that. They were very good. They gave us Horlicks tablets to suck on trips, and that kind of thing, you know? We were looked after, and I, I’d like to put this in too, that I think the New Zealand government have been wonderful to me since I came out. They’ve been really wonderful.
GT: You emigrated at the age of seventeen, went back to Blighty, fought in the war, come back to New Zealand and have had a wonderful life time here.
JM: Yeah.
GT: Fabulous.
JM: I have had a wonderful life, yeah. The three kids are wonderful, they’ve all done very, very well in life. No, they’re not waiting for my departure that’s for sure [laughs].
GT: And your next birthday, the 1st of August, how old will you be?
JM: Sorry?
GT: And on your next birthday, how old will you be?
JM: Ninety-eight.
GT: And I'm sure your- The folk who know you are very proud and pleased to know you, as a ninety-seven-year-old, you’re still very much able, and a driver [emphasis], you’ve just shown me that you’re an excellent driver by the automobile associations.
JM: [Laughs] I’m happier behind the wheel that I am on my legs actually. My legs are getting a little bit crotchety but no, I’m very happy behind the wheel of a car and-
GT: Fabulous.
JM: I think partly- That partly is due to the fact that I used to have a taxi business, I had a taxi business for about twelve years, so I've done a fair mileage [chuckles].
GT: Yeah, well that’s, that’s very pleasing to know, and so-
JM: Love it, prior to that, I was a company representative, used to cover the whole of the South Island [chuckles].
GT: So, you’ve driven much, much mileage.
JM: So, I've done a lot, a big, big mileage.
GT: The roads here in New Zealand aren’t particularly good for long distance driving at times.
JM: [Laughs] Yeah.
GT: Well, Jack I’m, I’m going to finish our interview here and then, then we’ll look at listing the material and the other interviews that you’ve been able to be a part of and publish, or have published on your behalf. So, I'm very grateful for you to- By appointment to meet me today in your home, your lovely place, and I will package this up for the IBCC and they will be very grateful to have your history, your time and your experiences of two tours ‘cause your sacrifice for your King and your countries [emphasis] pretty much was awesome, and I thank you for your service. Thank you, sir.
JM: You’re welcome.
GT: Ok, great, thank you then, bye-bye.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Jack Marshall
Creator
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Glen Turner
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-01-16
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AMarshallJ180116
Format
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00:28:26 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Description
An account of the resource
Jack went to New Zealand in 1937 and became a steward in a gentleman’s club in Napier, where he stayed two years until the war broke out. He joined the Royal Air Force and went to England where he did train at RAF Uxbridge to become an air gunner. With 115 Squadron he went to Operational Training Unit at RAF Marham and RAF Bassingbourn, where he spent time as an instructor. The squadron did three operations to Italy and on one occasion the Wellington aircraft iced up so badly that they went through the Alps at low attitude, rather than over. On landing, three engines cut out, with only three- or four-minute fuel left. Jack recalled two other incidents. One when they were attacked by two fighters and the other when their Wellington was shot down on the way back from Berlin. They lost an engine 40 miles off Great Yarmouth and had to escape in the dinghy before being rescued by a fishing trawler. The crew became members of the Goldfish Club. The crew were posted to RAF Oakington in where they joined 7 Squadron, carrying out 46 operations in Stirlings. Jack volunteered for the Pathfinder Force as a rear gunner. After the war Jack returned to New Zealand. Jack was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for a long and high standard of reliability and enthusiasm.
Contributor
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Sue Smith
Tilly Foster
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--London
England--Norfolk
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany
Germany--Berlin
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Italy
Alps
New Zealand
England--Great Yarmouth
Temporal Coverage
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1940-11-15
1943-04-12
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
11 OTU
115 Squadron
7 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bombing
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
Distinguished Flying Cross
ditching
Goldfish Club
Lancaster
military service conditions
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Marham
RAF Oakington
RAF Uxbridge
Stirling
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1062/11457/APayneJB150608.2.mp3
d15cef4ebe65bbad4bec4356ee9b1cbb
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Payne, Brian
John Brian Payne
J B Payne
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Brian Payne (b. 1932, 2530371, Royal Air Force). He served on Canberas 1951-1959.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-06-08
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Payne, JB
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MH: Good morning to anybody that’s listening to the recording of this morning. I have the pleasure of interviewing Mr John Payne at his home address xxxx xxxx. The date today is Monday the 8th of June 2015. The time by my watch now is 11:41 and basically, I’ve got the purpose here to interview Mr Payne regarding reflections and memories of his time with the Royal Air Force, dating between 1951 and 1959. He will also be touching on a very interesting subject also about his father, who was potentially one of the first people to join the combined service back in 1918, in the formative year of the Royal Air Force having moved over from the Royal Flying Corps. There may be other points that Mr Payne wishes to touch on. I may or may not be taking notes during this and there may or may not be some direct questions at the end, but I’m now going to hand this recording over to Mr Payne and I’ll get him to run through his story.
JBP: My Christian name is Brian. This was the name of a close friend of my father’s, who was two years older than him. In 1916, he was called up in Bradford to join the Bradford pals, trained as an infantryman, went over to France in January of 1917 and was killed on the 22nd of February 1917, on the Ancre River, which is not far from Rheims. In 1940, things were looking difficult. The evacuation of Dunkirk was taking place, Hitler’s armed forces seemed to look unstoppable, we lost most of our equipment left in France. Churchill had just taken over and formed his first war cabinet and everything looked black, but as a seven year old boy, these things were not in my mind at all. One day, my father left his bureau open and I had a look inside, and I saw the usual kinds of things, and in one corner, there was a little portion set aside for technical notes. I didn’t know what they meant but what I did know was, that there were three photographs, and they were photographs of biplanes in front of a hangar. So that evening when dad came home, I said to him, ‘What are these photographs, Dad?’ And he said, ‘Well, when, in 1918 when the First World War ended, I was flying one of those aeroplanes and I was training to be pilot, but I didn’t finish my training because the armistice stopped all the flying so I never got my wings’. Well, as a little boy going to school with other little boys, this was a goldmine. This was a wonderful thing to find out. That my father had been a pilot in the Air Force, even if he didn’t go flying and dropping bombs and things on Germany. He was there, he did his bit, as far as he could and from then on, I dreamed of going into the Air Force and flying. I didn’t mind whether it was flying as a pilot or a navigator. I just wanted to be able to say, ‘I’m aircrew in the Air Force.’ Times passed. I got myself seven credits at school certificate, which was very unusual because mostly, I just worked for other people I enjoyed and looked forward to having as my teachers. And I got one A level. Not enough to go to university but plenty to go into the Air Force to fly, and I was called up as a national serviceman. Started off by going to Padgate and learned to dislike drill corporals who hazed us from day, dawn to dusk. 6 o’clock in the morning reveille till bed time, and got the uniformity that they wanted in terms of what we were wearing and how we cleaned equipment, and then off to a grey Hornchurch to be graded as a potential aircrew, and when I finished the grading, they said, ‘You’re a grade three pilot, but you’re a grade one navigator’. So I said, ‘I’d like to try being a pilot first’. So that October, I was sent up to RAF Digby, where they had Tiger Moths, and I had a marvellous time. The only snag is, the twelve hours that I flew, I always had an instructor with me. Never went solo. Never, never did landings on my own. And that really meant that I could only look forward to being a navigator, but I consoled myself that if I was a navigator, I might not kill myself as easily as if I was a pilot, and with that thought, I went on. Now, the Air Force was in a phase of expansion when I joined them but the majority of the aircraft were World War Two aircraft, propeller driven, and by that time the speed of aircraft meant that propellers couldn’t be used to power aeroplanes because they couldn’t go fast enough. They came up against a problem called the speed of sound, which didn’t do anything good for propellers, and jet engines were coming in, witness the Meteor and the Vampire, which were our front line defence but when it came to Korea, and the North Koreans invading the South Koreans then the, one of the few occasions when the United Nations Council sent troops somewhere to fight, and we were one of the sixteen nations that answered the call of the UN, sent people out to Korea, but of course, we found that the Koreans had jet aircraft from Russia, MIG15, and these MIG15s could play havoc with our slower piston engine aircraft, the bombers, and the fighters weren’t very good against them either, but I was going in on this wave of enthusiasm about the first jet bomber in the country, which was the Canberra. The B2 Canberra. Oh, and I did want to fly that aeroplane. I was hoping I could get on to that aeroplane, to fly a jet bomber. My father had been enrolled in the Air Force a fortnight after it became the RAF from being the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service, so he started something new and here was I with a chance perhaps of flying in a Canberra. Well off we went for our training. They opened up some temporary camps. First at RAF Usworth near Newcastle, which was a dump. We were in wooden huts. Fortunately, it was February when we went there, when it was bitterly cold, and by the time we finished it was August and it was nice and warm, but we couldn’t get anywhere from the camp very easily, because the buses didn’t run very frequently to Sunderland or Newcastle, and certainly, there was no Sunday morning service to either place from Usworth, so we were out there, trapped on an airfield with nothing to do, but I passed that. Had some adventures, like a compass being wrong in the aircraft and me flying over cloud for an hour, an hour and a quarter and finding us miles away from where we should have been, because the compass was in error by five degrees, which is a lot of miles if you’re flying at two hundred miles an hour. From there, I went down to Lichfield, which again was another temporary, it was a wartime training base where they had Wellington B10s. My course went through successfully, most of them anyway, but a couple of, four of the lads were involved in crashes. The first was a Wellington that was doing a let- down, and the trainee navigator set the coordinates wrong for his Gee set. Instead of letting down to the airfield, he let down in the side of a hill, but they all three survived it because the pilot pulled the nose up as soon as he saw the hillside, and he kind of, was climbing, and the hillside was climbing a bit faster, so eventually, the hillside hit him underneath and he was going on alright until he hit a wall and then it broke into pieces. The other accident happened when they were in the circuit, coming in for final landing. The pilot made an error, the co-pilot was killed, one of the navigators was trapped in the wreckage and the pilot went off to find help and the other navigator stayed with his mate. The fog came down. It took them four hours to find the aircraft. Having got through that, we had a joyful occasion when I got my navigator’s brevvy, and I was confirmed as a pilot officer in the royal service, and incidentally, my initial commission as acting pilot officer was signed on the first day of the current Queens reign. What a long time ago that was. It’s like having a first, first cover stamp isn’t it? Well then, the moment of truth. Hardly anybody from our course at Lichfield went on to jets, just me and two others. We were told we were going to Bomber Command Bombing School at Lindholme, now notorious as a prison, where we did the practice with the Mark 14 bombsight that the Lancasters and Lincolns used, which was called the T2 bombsight for the Canberra. Unfortunately, the bombsight was only an area bombsight in the Second World War and they could have an accuracy of up to four hundred yards with the bombsight. In jet aircraft, the areas were even bigger. It was not a successful bombsight. The work hadn’t been done sufficiently in advance, but we were grappling with flying near the speed of sound at high altitudes, and the problem with the visual bombsight is, you couldn’t see the target when you want to release the bomb, because it was too far ahead to allow for forward propulsion, before the bomb eventually went down vertically, and our experience with a jet bomber dropping inert bombs, just cast metal with explosive inside and a fuse was never very successful. But the time came when we went to 231 Operational Conversion Unit at Bassingbourne, and this was the big time. I was very lucky because the first pilot that I crewed up with, with a Scottish navigator that we had under, Pilot Officer Ford was sent off one day to do circuits and bumps, part of his training before he could fly with his crew, and he took off and got lost and landed downwind at RAF Duxford, which was an inactive fighter station. We never saw him again. And then we got crewed up with a Flight Lieutenant John Garstin, and he was a major influence in my life. We flew together for two years. He was a career officer on a regular commission, destined to go a long way. He’d already served as a aide-de-camp to the governor of one of the Caribbean islands, and he’d instructed at the Initial Training Unit at RAF Cranwell, which is a prestigious post too, so he’d obviously destined for future roles. Anyway, I got him for two years flying in our Canberra which was Willie Howe 725. We got it brand new from the makers via RAF Binbrook where they fitted the particularly RAF equipment in to the aircraft and made it ready for operational use. As flight commanders Terry Geddoe was A Flight commander and John Garstin was B Flight commanders. Flight commanders had their own aircraft. Terry’s was 724 and ours was 725. 724 ended up in a fire dump and was written off, 725 ended up at RAF Duxford, now the Imperial War Museum, Duxford, where it stands as an example of the B2 bomber. The training was interesting but when we finished the course, I had done roughly two hundred and fifty six hours flying since joining the Air Force and there I was, a navigator observer, in the first jet bomber to be flown by the RAF and was I proud? My word I was. From Bassingbourne it wasn’t a long haul up to RAF Coningsby in Lincolnshire. We got there on the 26th of May 1953. A date engraved in my mind because the first four crews to go to flying on 15 squadron in the Canberra era, or the Canberra chapter as well call it in the [pause], oh never mind. There were five squadrons building up their strength. There was 15, 10, 10, 10 squadron, 15 squadron, 44 squadron, 56 squadron and 149 squadron and we were all training to become operational in the first eighteen months of our stay at Coningsby, but in the following August, we were sent, we’d been there fifteen months or so, we were told we were going to go to Cottesmore, because they wanted to lay a three thousand yard runway at Coningsby for the V force when it finally arrived. So off we went to Cottesmore, which was a very happy time. Nine months there and off we went again. This time to RAF Honington, which had just had a three thousand yard runway installed for the V force, and there we stuck until the Canberra squadron was dissolved in 1957, but a lot went on before then. For example, the first serious detachment that we did from one of these bases, was from Honington to El Adem. This is in North Africa, near Tobruk famous for the battles between Bernard Montgomery and Rommel in the 1941 and ‘42 years of the Second World War. So it was exciting to go to such a historic place. We were there to fly a week’s intruder exercise over Greece, where they had the ancient Meteors and the ancient Vampires, so we had to fly at a low speed so they could catch us. We cruise normally at .72 Mach, but for those exercises, we had to cruise at .66/67 Mach so they could catch us, so that was quite fun. But I remember about that is the gritty wind, all day and all night - blowing, blowing, blowing - and as dusk fell, you could hear the explosions of mines that had been laid in the Second World War and not cleared, just lying there corroding. Expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting, until all of a sudden, they went off. We did make one visit, we went forty miles along the road from Tobruk, to a famous area where the forces really clashed. I can’t remember the name of the area but there was a peninsula, and on it was a German war memorial. We went up to this war memorial. Everybody started going quiet and whispering, and we looked at the ages of the people on this war memorial, and it was covered. All the granite was covered with names hundreds of young men, and I guess we all had the same thought. Eh up, this could be us. We were a very subdued bunch going back to the officer’s mess at El Adem that evening. When we got there, the local paper was in. They’d discovered the body of a Second World War soldier who’d died in 1942 in the Africa Korps and they found him, twenty yards off the main highway between Tobruk and Benghazi. Twenty yards, in a bit of a scrub, sitting behind a machine gun. Again, it brought it down to earth. And when we got back to England after our attachment, people were beginning to write about Suez and Egypt, and the possibility of confrontation, because Nasser, in July of ’56, nationalised the Suez Canal. Now it’s perfectly logical why he did it, which I can say now in hindsight, ‘cause I can’t remember very much about my attitude at the time except that, oh dear, this is what I got paid flying pay for. It started off with Nasser wanting to build the Aswan Dam. He wanted to build the Aswan Dam because he wanted to control the waters of the Nile, to make them more useful agriculturally, but also as a source of power to power electricity stations and improve the infrastructure. All very laudable, but for that he needed loans, and at the time that the Aswan Dam was starting, or was waiting looking for funds, first the Americans, then the British said, oh, we’ll lend you some money, but after that, Abdul Gamal Nasser made the mistake of buying his weapons of war from the Russians. Not from America and not from England, which upset the politicians. So they said, ‘Well, if we can’t have your orders for aircraft, you can’t have our, we’re going to nationalise the Suez canal, because if we can’t have your loans, we’ve got to pay for it somehow and we’re ongoing with the work’. Now, Anthony Eden had been one of the leading pacifists in the run up to the First World War, and had accompanied Baldwin when he went with that paper peace in our time. He was a sick man, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake with a dictator again as he’d made with Herr Hitler, and he decided that the, the legal side of international lawyers should tell him whether the nationalisation of the canal was legal, and much to his chagrin, the lawyers said, providing he pays a reasonable compensation to the shareholders, he’s quite within his rights, and it’s quite legal for him to nationalise the Suez canal. This wasn’t what Anthony Eden wanted to hear, but Mr Anthony Eden decided that he was going to teach this fellow a lesson, and he thought of gunboats, which was his age, and he thought the Canberras would do the job. It just showed how little he knew. We knew what we were being prepared for. We were told not to talk to our wives and girlfriends, which we didn’t. We were confined to camp and it all got very tense. Then we were ordered out to Nicosia in Cyprus. At the time there was the EOKA shooting British officers in the back, so we didn’t fancy really, going to Nicosia but when we got there, we found we were alright, because they wouldn’t let us out of camp anyway. Every square foot of the airfield was occupied. There were no permanent accommodation for junior officers, they just slept in tents. The food, with all the people on board, was atrocious, and to cap it all, it was my twenty fourth birthday, and two days after my twenty fourth birthday, my pilot Dennis Wheatley and I were in the briefing room, preparing for our first raid over Egypt, because war had been declared. When they told us that, I just wanted to get on my own for a bit and think out what it could be like. It was a bit scary, but we’d been sent out there in our lovely Canberras. There’s only two problems. The first problem was, we had no way of navigating the aircraft accurately, because the system that was used over Europe was called the Gee system and this was two, two, a master station, two slave stations and they sent out signals. The master sent it out direct to the aircraft and sent one to the, same signals at the same time, and then the two slaves retransmitted the signal to the aircraft, so the aircraft had three readings, and from that, could fix their position by use of a special chart overprinted with Gee values, so we could look at the Oscilloscope and take the C readings and plot the aircraft’s, and that was how we were trained. But there was no Gee station over in Cyprus, nor could they build one in time, but we hadn’t any other aids. We hadn’t even got an astro compass or a bubble sextant. That didn’t do, that didn’t work very well in a fast flying aircraft anyway so we were without navigation aids. And the first raid we went on, was at Kibrit airfield, and we had, we couldn’t, the straightforward way, would have been go due south from Cyprus to the mouth of the Suez canal, go up the Suez canal, and bomb Kibrit airfield, but we thought that, or the powers that be thought, well even the Egyptians will have anti-aircraft gun going up the canal, so if we go up the canal, we’re liable to get shot at so we’d be clever, we’ll fly a series of three courses, and come around like a big question mark. Based on Cyprus, we went down the arm, then round, round, round and at the third turning point, the Valiants would come from Malta, and they would drop markers on the turning point, so we would know where to go to start our bombing run, and then some Canberras of 138 Squadron would mark the target with different target indicators so we’d know what to bomb. Well, nobody had thought that flying three legs without any nav aids is easy to do, because a slight mistake in terms of piloting the aircraft could put you miles off course. And so it was. When I came to the time when we should have been at the last turning point, there were no TI’s from the Vulcans that I could see. I couldn’t see anybody attacking any airfields within visual range of our aircraft. I’d not seen the canal, but it should stand out on a, on a dark night. In fact, there we were, with six one thousand pound armed bombs, going back to an airfield we didn’t know, very close to a large mountain. So Dennis said, ‘We’d better jettison our bombs’, so we went out to sea and dropped the bombs in the water, and hope nobody was swimming underneath. So ingloriously, we went back to base, not having even seen the target. The fact of the matter is, that until that flight, I’d never seen TI’s anyway, ‘cause they were economical during peacetime. They didn’t use everything there so TI’s didn’t get dropped. The next airfield to be attacked was Luxor, which is down to the south of Egypt, and the reason we were attacking Luxor was that Nasser had put his IL28 bombers, the Russian jet bombers, down there out of sight, he hoped. They lined them up on a runway and the air, the photo reconnaissance people saw the aircraft, so that was our target. So we were sent there, in the dark again, but that’s a maximum flight for a Canberra. We have one bombing run, one bombing run only. Well, after our first incident, we were very unhappy, me and Dennis, because we’d not even found the target. On this occasion, the TI’s were dropped and we saw them. A lovely sight. It was November the 5th again. But because of the limitations of our bombsight, built as it was during the war for Lancasters and Halifaxes and Stirlings, flying at two hundred knots, the maximum speed you could fly was three fifty knots, which was way below our maximum speed, and the maximum height you could bomb was twenty five thousand feet, because that was all, we liked to fly at forty thousand feet so going, flying over at high level, coming down to a bombing level, dropping the bomb then climbing up again. We did a cruise climb from the Luxor target, on the first occasion, to conserve fuel, it’s a way of flying a long way. We got to forty eight thousand feet and I have never been as cold as I was that day. Neither had Dennis. It was freezing at forty eight thousand feet, but we got back and joined the queue of aircraft waiting to land, but this time, we had dropped our bombs, and you know how big an airfield is. We missed it. So our bombs fell just outside the perimeter, as did a lot of bombs, but the interesting thing about the debriefing was, the intelligence officer debriefing us was trying to put our bomb burst closer to the target than we wanted to, and I said to him, I said, ‘Look’, I said, ‘I dropped the bloody bombs. I know where they went. You put them where I said, not on the runway, I didn’t hit the runway’. Well when we got back home, it was agreed that it had been a failure. It had been a complete waste of time sending the Canberras, because we didn’t have an accurate wind to put on the bombsight, we had blind navigation, just dead reckoning and that’s anybody’s guess, dead reckoning, so they sent us back the next day to the same airfield, but they had us take off half an hour earlier, so we’d have the last of the light to bomb by, which was intelligent, but didn’t help the results much because we still had no accurate wind over the bomb, over the airfield. Nobody transmitted one to us. So we’d flown all that way by dead reckoning and again, this time I could see the bombs drop, and they did drop inside the airfield, but they dropped on a place which was neither good nor useful. It didn’t disable the airfield and it didn’t disable the IL28s. As it happened, the following day, the French sent in a low level attack force and destroyed them all, but what a waste of time. And then the fourth raid I did, at Suez, was with our squadron commander, Squadron Leader Scott, and I was flying as nav plotter instead of single navigator, so the nav observer went down in the nose and he map read from the coast to the target, and from the target back to the coast, so I didn’t have anything to do except sit there and listen to the conversation, but the final attack was a place called El Marsa barracks, and by this stage, we were supporting the Army in, just out of Port Said. But the nice thing was that, a few days later, they sent us back home to England. That was, that was marvellous, that was the good news, because it got us into our own beds, and good meals and things like that, but they wouldn’t let us off camp. We were still restricted and we were told that although we’d come back in early November, that beginning of, end of December, we were going to go out to Malta, Exercise Goldflake was a kind of surveillance from Malta of the area when it had all calmed down and has a wing of Canberras out there, so we had another month to serve so it was coming up to three and a half months before we’d see our loved ones again [pause]. But when I started doing research on the internet, and the National Archives, it was interesting because so much was glossed over, but I understand that Sir Anthony Eden didn’t have a war cabinet for this particular operation, he just worked with one single senior civil servant, but the planning of the whole exercise made you feel that it was a kind of a mismatch. Senior officers were keeping their stiff upper lip type faces, but I think they were fuming inside because of the way that the arms had been used, or not used properly and all the embarrassing things that could be said, perhaps weren’t said by those in authority at the time [pause]. It was strange drawing up all of a sudden. I had a feeling of how people were when they were going to war, in a real war, not an adventure like this one, and I wrote a little song about it. Have you heard that song “Flying In a Jet Plane,” John Denver?
MH: Ahum
JBP: Well, just right on the top. I won’t, that’s it, that’s it. I won’t, I won’t, I’ll just say it to you rather than sing it. I can sing it but I’m all flat. This is, “Flying In a Jet plane” by me. I pay full tribute to, certainly to John Denver, because it was his thing that started it off -
All my kit is packed
I’m ready to go.
The moon is full, the coach is slow.
I’ve a three hour trip to base, my weekend’s done
Tomorrow is a flying day. I’m 536 we’re on our way.
Flying east, towards the rising sun.
So kiss me and smile for me.
Tell me that you’ll wait for me.
Hold me like you’ll never let me go,
Because I’m flying in a jet plane. I don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Oh Anne, I hate to go.
All leave is cancelled. Weekends too.
The future’s bleak, but I love you.
You fill my waking thoughts the livelong day.
Every place I go, I think of you.
In my sleep at night, I dream of you.
Pray for peace to hold. Not all outright war.
So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you’ll wait for me.
Hold me like you’ll never let me go.
‘Cause I’m flying in a jet plane. I don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Oh Anne, I hate to go.
The die is cast. Now the war’s begun.
We fly by night till the bombings done.
Then we fly back to England once again.
A month in Malta, for our crews,
Then we are told the welcome news, of leave for every other man.
So kiss me and smile for me.
Tell me that you’ll wait for me.
Hold me like you’ll never let me go.
‘Cause I’m working in a jet plane. Navigating back to you again.
Landing gently in your arms. Landing gently in your arms.
That’s my poem. A better singer than me can sing it to you [laughs]. Well we got back to England, after our stay in Malta, which was quite pleasant, it’s just that we weren’t seeing our girlfriends and wives, you know, but when we got back, we found that the Canberra squadron, 15 Squadron was being disbanded and this would take place on the 17th of April 1957. This would mean that the Canberras would all go back to the maintenance units and be handed out to other squadrons that were being formed. We’d be, we’d all go our different ways, but the squadron would reform with the Handley Page Victor in 1989, so it wasn’t going to be disbanded for very long, and it could become a Victor squadron, but I’d got to decide what to do. I went home for my first leave in February, and I discussed seriously with my father whether to resign my commission immediately and come out of the Air Force, but he said, ‘Don’t be so precipitous, it’s been a big shock and you are a Christian, but let’s look at the options’. So we went through the options. I didn’t want to fly in the V bombers, ‘cause I didn’t, I didn’t want to drop a hydrogen bomb or atom bomb on anybody and we eventually decided that the best use I could make of my time, would be a navigation instructor, so I went back to the squadron and discussed it with our friends, and the CO got me some forms to apply and I was taken in number 46 staff nav course, which was a course designed for two things. The first was to broaden your experience of the way that navigation was conducted in each of the commands flying, you know, Fighter, Bomber, Coastal and Transport Command. I think that’s all. If I’ve forgotten one, put it in, and the second purpose is to learn how to write staff papers and appreciations, which was very, very useful in my future life, as an insurance consultant. I enjoyed the course, I came out second, and then a guy called Polly Parrot, who was in the Air Ministry on his ground tour, he rang me up one day. He did junior officer postings. He said, ‘Brian’, he said, ‘I’ve got some good news for you. You’ve got a posting to 231 OCU at Bassingbourne. How does it feel?’ I said, ‘That’s great’. I said, ‘When are you getting out of your ground job?’ He said, ‘Oh next year. I’m coming out and I’m hoping to get on the V force’. I said, ‘I’ve got a girlfriend in Sheffield that I think I want to marry’. But I went off to OCU and I got some very good helping from the chief instructor, who took me under his wing and got me working properly. He gave me confidence, and then the Indian Air Force started coming through Bassingbourne, as part of a deal for them to buy our Canberras, we’d train their pilots, navigators, and I got friendly with a Flight Lieutenant Nath. I couldn’t pronounce his Christian name, so he said, ‘Oh call me Juggy’. So Juggy Nath he was and we got on like a house on fire. He came up one November the 5th to our home at Sheffield and met my parents, met my girlfriend, only she was close to being my fiancé then and my young brother who was setting off fireworks, and he really enjoyed himself, and then years later, I got a telephone call out of the blue and we were in here, about 1985, and he was flying with Indian Airways as a captain, and he’d just got married for the first time. He was in his fifties then, at fifty five then, a wing commander in the Indian Air Force he was, and he phoned on spec, and tried some Payne’s in the address book and got hold of me, so we were delighted, and he brought his wife up and came. The first time he was up, he talked to my parents and enjoyed that, so he talked in the evening to my parents. A thoroughly wonderful occasion. Doing research for this about eighteen months ago, discovered that a Wing Commander Nath, N A T H, was the most decorated Indian Air Force pilot in the history of the Indian Air Force, and my friend Juggy, who was a bit of a playboy. He didn’t like flying desks, he loved flying. He loved anything to do with sport. Very keen sportsman and good fun as well. And then the following, I’d been at Bassingbourne six months and just settled in nicely, I made the one major mistake of my career. Polly Parrot rang up and said, ‘I need a station navigation officer at RAF Finningley’, which is very close to Sheffield. ‘Are you interested?’ Of course I was interested. Oh great. So I went up there and the, not that the group captain I didn’t know, but the wing commander was a navigator in charge of the operations room, and he was security cleared to deal with V bomber crews and his deputy, Pete Harle, squadron leader, he was an H bomb specialist and he was cleared to work with these crews, but I’m a flight lieutenant, station navigation officer, the squadron’s navigation officers outranked me. I was only a flight lieutenant, they were squadron leaders. Wing Commander Dawson kept all the interesting stuff about navigation so I began to wonder why I was there, ‘cause I’d got nothing to do. Nothing to do. No security clearance to help with the V bombers or anything in any shape or form. I once tried marking the log, a chap on the squadrons, and the wing commander came and tore me off a strip, the group captain, no, the squadron leader on the squadron, ‘You shouldn’t be marking my men. Give over’. And then they made the post a squadron leader post. Well, two months before, the corporal in charge of the map store had left after doing two years national service, and the only job I could see I could do was the map store CO. So I was flight lieutenant in charge of the map store for the last four months of my service and then came out in civilian life, where I had a totally different career and married Anne. And that’s the story of my life in the Air fFrce. I rest my case.
MH: You’ve had quite an extended career there. Well, extended in what you’ve done but squeezed into a short period of time with the RAF. I’ll go back, take you all the way back if I may to your father, and what his experience was and the way that, did he infer on you any, any, the way that he was trained or was that something you found out afterwards from him? Did he give you any stories regarding his training in the early, early years of the RAF?
JBP: The most infuriating part about it is, that my father had one photograph of three trainees on his course at Old Sarum airfield, but he’d sent home many letters and many photographs to his parents, and they hadn’t kept any of them. We have one letter dated the 1st, the 2nd of January 1919 when he’s trying to impress his mother by what he’s doing, and he calls himself the second in command of the navigation empire. He says, ‘It’s the officer here’, and he says, ‘ and I’m there to do the odd jobs that need doing when he’s making a presentation, but as we’re not doing presentations at the moment, you can see I’ve not much to do, but we discovered the other day that the coke burning stove in the hut causes an upward draft. We had a brilliant idea that we would make hot air balloons and fly them, but they didn’t work so we made a windmill, and the windmill went round on the current so we painted it in RAF colours and had it suspended, so that it would go around all the time. If brass hats came in we would just say we’re checking that the draft, that the stove doesn’t need filling up at all’, and he went on like this, pulling his mother’s leg and, ‘Look at the headed notepaper’. Old Sarum. It’s embossed, not just your printed stuff, yeah. Because my grandmother was a bit of a social climber. Victorian governess type. No, the research I’d done about my father’s training and the training of pilots in the First World War threw up some very startling facts. Fourteen thousand four hundred aircrew were killed in the First World War. Eight thousand of those aircrew were killed in training accidents before they ever got to the front. In other words, our training system killed more of our aviators than the enemy. After the war, when they looked at the records, the German Air Force had twenty five percent of the casualties as the British Air Force up to 1917. It’s shocking. Ok, it was a new world, aviation. The Germans and the French were the major aviators before the First World War. Our generals were, they could only see as far as the cavalry, and they didn’t show any enthusiasm for anything to do with flying. They found out very quickly in the First World War that flying was very important, because the French and the Germans had them, and the English didn’t, so until they got themselves sorted out, which took a year or so, they were under represented and the reconnaissance done by the British was good. It convinced the commanders in the field that they were worth having. Particularly when they had these big pushes like the Somme, and then the pilots had to fly contact patrols, otherwise they had to keep in contact with the front line to be able to see how close the Germans were and whether they could machine gun them out of their positions, but of course, when you’re flying that close to the front line and somebody’s lobbing shells from your side and from their side, the chances of a shell hitting you is not remote so many of the aviators killed. The figures don’t match up to the Army, but then the number of flyers engaged compared with the number of the Army soldiers engaged was quite different as well, but the losses were very high. And the training of aircrew was a problem, because when the war started, we only had, I think it was a hundred and eighty qualified pilots in the whole of Britain, and training was hit and miss. It started off with, in about 1909 that if you wanted to learn how to be a pilot, you got on to this kind of flimsy box kite thing. There was one seat and that was for the pilot. So, the pilot would sit on the seat with the controls in front of him. No dual controls, just one set of controls. Then the trainee would get in through the barrage of spars and things that are holding the aircraft together, and he would be invited to sit behind the pilot so his knees were touching the pilot’s sides and his hands were touching his shoulders, and then to feel the movements the pilot was making, and then the pilot, the instructor, would get out and say, ‘Now you try. I don’t want you to make any turns. Just go up forwards and down forwards’, and it’s surprising how many people crashed like that. You see, the engines of the aircraft weren’t powerful enough. They just take the aircraft up off the ground, but the flying speed forwards and the stalling speeds when they dropped out of the ground were probably three or four miles an hour different, and they didn’t have a kind of speedo to see how fast they were flying. They had very primitive instruments. Couldn’t fly in a wind over five miles an hour ‘cause they’d go backwards. It slowly improved but we were totally reliant on the French. We had to buy, for the bulk of the war, we bought French engines, French aircraft until we started developing our own in 1915 but the war had been going on a year then and it was a very slow progress, and there were great periods when the Germans had the upper, they had the control over the air over the front lines and that was horrible for the soldiers, and they, they found a way of firing through the propeller. That was the big thing. So you aimed the aircraft and fire through the propeller and shoot down the enemy aircraft. And the Germans had an aircraft which wasn’t very successful but it was a good gun platform, and it was called an Eindecker, and these Eindeckers used to go up and our pilots didn’t think they could shoot at anybody, you know, nobody couldn’t shoot anybody down, certainly not through the propeller, and then the Eindecker got into the position where it could shoot the British aircraft down and shot them down in droves. We eventually found an aircraft that could fight the Eindecker. It had three guns facing forwards, called a Pusher biplane, and it had three, three guns facing forwards but the observer had to take great risks with his own life to fire one of the guns, ‘cause he had to balance on the edge of the cockpit to stand up to this gun to fire at the back of the aircraft and there were no training manuals. People were posted to be instructors like the Army does, you know. ‘Right boy, you’re not volunteering but you’ll be an instructor now. You’re now posted as an instructor to ‘blah blah blah’. Go and instruct’. You don’t tell them how. So that you’d think you had just come out of flying training. Hopefully, he had a good pilot to instruct him but many of them weren’t. A lot of the pilots came out of the front line with shattered nerves. Do I fly at all? So when they were made into instructors, unfortunately they used to send people off far too early in their training, so many of them got killed because they shouldn’t have been flying alone, but one of the, the reason was that the instructor was trying to avoid flying, and then you got pilots sent back from the front who were a threat to the squadron if they were going out on a reconnaissance, and they got sent back and made into instructors. In fact, they’d make anyone into instructors if they could, and the instructors privately called their pupils Huns, because they were as liable to kill them as much as the Germans. And then, in 1917, a chap who’d been in the, been flying as a pilot and then as a squadron commander, he went to Trenchard and said, ‘I think we can organise flying training so it’s more useful’. The kind of flying training that we were giving to people was basic training, but it had nothing to do with flying in war. So, we didn’t teach people manoeuvres that are dangerous. Many of the instructors wouldn’t know how to do it anyway. The ones who were straight to instructing from training school and this chap had the novel idea of training people to fly and fight at the same time, so all the training was to do that, if there were any risky manoeuvres, then people had to go through these over again and again with the instructor until he had mastered it, because shying away from not mastering something wasn’t on. And fortunately, he’d been in the post a year at Gosport when my father joined the Air Force, and by that time it was organised along the lines that he pioneered. Great man. So my father got proper training. The aircraft were equipped with dual controls. They had a tube that they could blow the whistle by the other pilot’s ear and you could talk through the tube, and that was called a Gosport Tube, and altogether more time was given to training people before they were sent out, because in periods when the Germans had the control of the skies, they were shooting down our aircraft and we were losing pilots like mad, so the front line commanders were asking for more pilots and the training programme couldn’t produce them, and it wasn’t until 1917 that Trenchard wrote a letter, which Haig signed, sent to the cabinet, war cabinet and they increased the aircraft squadrons from forty to a hundred, and specialist units were created. But a lot of the pilots, a lot of the instructors, had to be trained to instruct in this new way. So you started by training, nobody had been training instructors to instruct until that point, and everything happened in the final year, and I was glad that my father went into the Air Force when he did, ‘cause if he hadn’t have done I might not be here. That’s a long answer to a short question.
MH: What did your father do when he came out of the RAF?
JBP: Well the first thing he did was to be diagnosed with tuberculosis in his left leg, and he required six months treatment for that, and fortunately they were able to cure it but he always had a weakness in his left leg. Then he had another eighteen months looking for a job because, when he went, went in the Air Force, he’d been apprenticed to be an engineer, engineering draughtsman but he’d not finished his course, so he applied for something like that, but he’d not finished and other people had and they got the job. But eventually, in 1921, he got a job and he worked for the same firm from the age of twenty one to the age of seventy four. Same firm. It changed ownership three times. Each time the business was failing and somebody bought it out, but it was a good record. He saw good times and bad times. One of the good times was, he went with a friend, Jack Webster, on holiday at Towyn in Wales, and Jack had married a girl called Mary Haye, who was the elder sister of Florence Haye who was a zoology and botany graduate from the Liverpool University, and she was the only female taking that degree, all the rest were fellas. So she was kind of in advance of her time but she’d not had a boyfriend even though she was twenty six by now, because if you got married between the wars, you had to give up teaching and she liked teaching so she gave up men, until she met my father and they got married in 1929, but there were one or two moments. Mother’s family was a working class family. Did all the shopping, Gibbet Street in Halifax, and Florence’s dad who was a thimble maker by trade, but it was mechanised in the war years so they weren’t made by hand any more so he was unemployed at the end of the war, and had a very rich great uncle called Uncle Joe Allen and he had a posh house at Maidenhead, and he had the franchise for importing into Africa the products of a certain Mr Ford for the whole of Africa, and he gave my grandfather a job in the Gold Coast, Lagos, importing Ford vehicles, and my granddad told us of an occasion when the local chieftain decided he wanted a Ford car so he went along and explained it all to him, and couldn’t help noticing that the chief was looking very disappointed and very upset. So he asked him what the matter was and he said, ‘Well you sent me a picture of this car and where’s the lady that goes with it?’[laughs] Anyway, the Haye family didn’t drive cars at all so my mother was out with my father in his Austin 7 and they were having a row as they were driving along. She didn’t, not knowing what she was doing, she switched off the ignition. The only time he hit her.
[Ringtone tune. Reminder for medication]
JBP: My pills. I hope they appreciate the nice music [pause]. There was a pause while he took his pills.
MH: Yeah. Yeah.
JBP: Who has not put his pills out this morning?
MH: What we’ll do is, we’ll temporary pause the interview at this time so Mr Payne can have his pills because they’re more important to be honest. So we’ll pause this for a second.
[machine paused]
MH: Welcome back, this is a continuation of the interview with Mr Payne. The time now is 13:04. Mr Payne had some medication to take so we decided to pause at that time to give him due time to do that and he’s happy to continue, which I’m very grateful to him for. We were just finding out about your father and what he had done after his days with the newly combined Royal Naval Air Service and Royal Flying Corps, a bit about his training that he’d done and then subsequent to that that he’d stayed with the same company for a phenomenal amount of time. What was it that he was doing for that company?
JBP: He was an engineering draughtsman, which was what he was being trained for, been training, but he was joining a company called Hall and Sons in Rotherham who were struggling with the changing conditions in industry and commerce, because it was about that time that the big recession started in about 1925 or so and they were having to multitask, so my father found himself the only draughtsman but also expected to go out and make calls on people as a salesman, but in doing that he found he’d got a capacity for being a salesman and by the time the company, Hall’s, was sold to British Automatic Refrigerators Limited, my father was a full time salesman in Bradford for them, and as the recession deepened, so he had to give up his car, and he was walking around selling freezer units to butchers because they had to install freezer equipment in their shops in order to keep the meat fresh. About 1932, 1929 they got married, in 1930, my mother gave birth to a still born child at six months, simply because of an infection she caught, and in 1932 I came along and brightened their lives and my father sent a card to my mother a month before I was born, ‘Whoops mum, soon be hitting the high spots with you. John Payne’, with a little ditty on the back of it as well. He’d got a nice quiet sense of humour. My mother was one of six girls and they all liked Raymond, as he was called, and he got on well with his mother-in-law as well. In fact, he got on with most people, he was very even tempered. He’d got a nice sense of humour and was very reliable. Everybody found him very reliable which was one of the reasons for his success as a salesman because as I found it certain, if you were honest with people, it’s very highly valued and so it should be.
MH: So you come along in 1932.
JBP: Yeah. My sister Anne came along in 1935. my sister Margaret in ’38, but my brother Robert decided to wait out the festivities of the war and came along when peace was declared. The only trouble was that my mother, who had gone back to teaching during the war as her war work on the Monday, she had an interview with the headmaster who said, ‘I’m delighted to tell you, Mrs Payne, that the teacher who went to the war from here, the biology teacher, is not coming back to Sheffield, so you can work full time at the job you love’. She was very pleased, went out and rang my father to tell him the news, went to the doctor’s on Friday and guess what. ‘We’ve done some tests Mrs Payne, and you’re having a baby in August’. So she, you know, she’d done her bit and my father called the baby ARP, because he didn’t taken any air raid precautions. So he was called Anthony Robert Payne [laughs]. Now Robert was a common name in the family, Robert. But like my father, another thing about my father, he couldn’t go into military service because of his deafness and his TB hip so he joined the air raid wardens, known as the ARP, and he went to the first meeting with the group. What do we call you? Now my dad hated Raymond, because it was a family name, and he hated Henry which was his other name, so he says, ‘Call me George’, so ever after, whenever it suited dad, ‘Hello George,’ we knew he was an air raid warden in the war. He also, not a religious man but a very, very sincere Christian. In the time when the evacuation of Dunkirk was taking place, he was in hospital having been diagnosed with having gallstones, and in those days, it meant an operation and the aftercare was botched and he got an abscess on his wound, and the surgeon came in and told mum and dad that if it burst inwards, that was it. End of story. If it burst outwards, there was a good chance of recovery, so they had three weeks with this hanging over their head, and dad, being a regular church goer anyway, he and mum were praying about it, and so was the extended family on both sides, and one day dad was by himself in the, in his cubicle in the ward and he had a sense of a presence with him, and he got the sense of words kind of appearing in his mind, ‘You’re going to be alright. Don’t worry’. And he didn’t, but the impact it had on him afterwards, he started regular bible study, he became a preacher in the Plymouth Brethren, and he was a very popular preacher. He did an awful lot of appointments by request. Took a number of weddings in their tradition and funerals. He preferred the weddings. They had adult baptisms, you had to be converted and then baptised, so as a sixteen year old, I had to get into this water with this old man. The only consolation was the girls had to do that and they looked lovely with their dresses clinging to them [laughs]. But he used to bring people home from the morning service, and he’d bring people home who were on their own and he called the lame ducks. And my mother had a spell in a psychiatric hospital in her fifties and she went to Middlewood, and she met a couple of ladies there and there were nothing wrong with them. They’d just been put in a mental hospital and left and become institutionalised. So my mum, when she got discharged from hospital, she said to the psychiatrist, would it be possible to take these two ladies out occasionally. Just they seem very subdued. So he said yeah, and later, about four months later, he said, ‘Mrs Payne you’ve made a tremendous difference to these ladies. They’re coming alive’, and mother always said, they kept coming to her house till they died, but she said isn’t it awful that people can be locked away in our civilised society and, of course, after that the legislation they brought in to close mental hospitals, because so many people were put in there, you know, put in there for having a baby out of wedlock, or because their father was wealthy and didn’t want them around. Shocking it was. So he really lived out his life of faith and I wouldn’t say there were any of us who are as good as he was. I’d like to be but I wouldn’t, I’m not.
MH: Did he, or did he carry on any sort of passion towards flying? Did he fly much after?
JBP: On the -
MH: Did he have the opportunity to?
JBP: On his eightieth birthday I took him down to Old Sarum airfield where the Shuttleworth Collection is based. Have you heard of them? Of course you have, yeah. And they were flying the Avro 504K which was the training aircraft he used, and I took him down there because that was the day when the flying displays were being done by the Avro, and he really liked that. And then we saw an oil painting in the shop, and I bought it, and he had it in his bedroom till he died and then it went to my grandson, who has got it over his bed now. So the link’s being continued although Nicholas has just got a degree in geology, so I can’t see him going to fly.
MH: But your passion came alive when you went into your father’s bureau.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: It touched you then.
JBP: That’s right.
MH: The bug, as such. As some people call it.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: From a photograph.
JBP: We all get touched by bugs, don’t we?
MH: We do.
JBP: Passion.
MH: Passions.
JBP: Passion. Yes.
MH: But your passion, then, continued through.
JBP: Yes. I didn’t, my long term aim was to fly. I tell you what were a hell of a culture shock and that was going on my honeymoon. Not, not the interesting bit, but the first time that Anne had flown, and we were taking off at three in the morning, in the pitch dark, and we came across the Mediterranean coast on our way to Rome. at first light, and that was magic. The only thing that wasn’t magic was buying some bloody tickets when I’d been paid for flying [unclear]. I did feel that. [laughs]
MH: So you joined the RAF in ‘51.
JBP: Yeah. National serviceman. The number of 2530371, and I was an aircrew Cadet.
MH: Just to make sure that I’ve written that, 2530371.
JBP: Yes.
MH: And that service number made -
JBP: National service number.
MH: National service.
JBP: The regulars were 414, first three letters.
MH: Ok. Did that then go, that also then picked up your national service number or did it become completely different? Your regular service number.
JBP: No. I kept the national service number.
MH: But it had a prefix then of 414.
JBP: No 414 was the one that was issued at Padgate.
MH: Ok.
JBP: Other access camps might have had different numbers, I don’t know, I only know Padgate. I was a national service man until the 14th of November 1951 when I applied for a permanent commission, a four year commission with four years on the reserve, which I extended when the direct commission system came in which, I think, they extended to a twelve year commission with an option of coming out after eight years. I went on to the direct commission before Suez and I took the four, the eight year option after Suez.
MH: What recollections, or what impressions when you were at RAF Digby learning first, learning first how to fly on Tiger Moths?
JBP: Oh, that was magic. Without a doubt the best flights I ever did, even though I was a Canberra navigator, the most exciting flights were Tiger Moth flights. There was the Chipmunk came in to replace the Tiger Moth. I used to love flying the Chipmunk, but flying in an open cockpit is something, something else. Something completely wonderful. And you can do so much over a small area because you’re flying quite slow relative to jets. You can hover almost. You can keep inside the airfield perimeter and just do your -
MH: Yeah.
JBP: Your stuff. I liked everything about the Air Force till Suez.
MH: Suez was the turning point.
JBP: Yeah [pause]. It was the start of this book I suppose. If I go back I could, I could tenuously link it to get it out of my system. By the time it was happening I wanted to go, and if we’re going to, I didn’t want the war to start. I wanted it to be done diplomatically like I said in the song, but I was quite committed to go into action if necessary. I wasn’t suddenly questioning whether I should go or not. My attitude was, well I’ve been paid flying pay for five years, they’re entitled to my service up front, and once it started, you just wanted to get it finished as soon as possible [laughs]. But I think there is a report on the bombing. I’ve been trying to get to the National Archives, I’ve been trying to get a report on the, there was a survey done of the bombing results on the airfields, and I’ve read fragments of other people’s books on the subject, which makes me believe that this does exist, but I couldn’t find a way of getting to it ‘cause I’m not very good at those websites. I’m sure there was a report done and they took nine major airfields and we didn’t close one of them. In all the bombs, we dropped and we didn’t close one of them. An enormous number of bombs and a lot of them dropped outside the airfield perimeter and that’s the shocking thing.
MH: You can reflect in some ways looking back just over a decade back to when Bomber Command first started out. The bombing missions to Germany and such like.
JBP: Yes.
MH: The accuracy there that was portrayed.
JBP: In 1941 a report came out and it showed that aircraft bombing with direct reckoning and star sights, which were the only two things they had at night, nine out of ten bombs dropped were more than five miles away from their target. Only one bomb out of ten was within five miles of the target and these were five hundred pound bombs. They weren’t a thousand pounders. And the area of devastation was only about a hundred yards. So the safest place to be was the target.
MH: Yeah. It’s strange to think of it like that, but that is, that’s a correct statement.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: Yeah. But it’s interesting, though, that, as you said in part one, that the bombsight that was used by the World War Two Bomber Command bomb aimers was the same then, just over a decade later, in the jet era, in the Canberra.
JBP: Yeah. And the forces against, the forces acting on the bomb and on the aircraft had greater, one of the examples is astral, astral navigation, using the stars. Now it all started with ships at ground level or at sea level, and bringing down the star sight on to the horizon to get the elevation of the star, to then be able to draw a great circle line, which on a short distance is a straight line to get a fix but you don’t have an actual horizon in an aircraft so you’ve got to put something in, so they found with low speeds, you could put a bubble in, and the bubble is acted on by the forces of gravity and where as a sea, seafarers could take two or three sights and that would be enough, we used the bubble sextant we had to take sixty sights, all automatic and they averaged out sixty sights of this star and then you got on the tables, and plotted this on your chart and you looked for three stars so that they crossed at a hundred and twenty degrees, a hundred and twenty degrees, a hundred and twenty degrees and your probable position was inside this ‘cocked hat’ as they called it. I was taught that in basic air navigation training. I used it once when I was at Lichfield on a night exercise, and I used it once on the staff navigator’s course when we were looking at Coastal Command and Transport Command and the way they navigated. Never used it otherwise. And I went to, from St Mawgan to Gibraltar on a staff nav course and I was navigating by lines of pressure, with the aircraft being steered by the gyro not a compass. I tried to understand that because I’ve got the notes down there and I tried to understand it now, and at eighty three, I just can’t understand it [laughs], at twenty four I was navigating by it and got there. Yes. The equipment lagged way behind the aircraft. That was the problem we had, we always had. Nowadays, the way they take modern star sights I’ve not been trained so I don’t know them, but the early ‘50s was, 1952 was the biggest size of the Air Force in war or in peace. That was the most resources there but a lot of those the jet engines made everything redundant, and we had a lot of other aircraft.
MH: It’s my understanding that, yeah, because I think Bomber Command still had things like the, well the Americans called the Superfortress, but we called it the Washington.
JBP: Yeah. That’s right.
MH: Which was still around -
JBP: Well 15 Squadron had Washingtons before it had Canberras.
MH: So, I mean, if you think of the size of the Superfortress, you know, the Washington compared with the Canberra, quite a fundamental change.
JBP: It is.
MH: In aircraft type, etcetera.
JBP: And when the yfirst displayed at Farnborough by Beamont, on behalf of English Electric, the way that he flew it was like a fighter, and some old fuddy duddies in the air ministry said, ‘You don’t fly a bomber like that. It’s a light bomber not a heavy bomber’, and of course, the heavy bombers did spectacularly well. The Vulcan, the Valiant and the Victor. They really were agile aircraft, but when you got to those speeds, the G forces that you can vector a G force into the horizontal and vertical. The G forces were far greater on equipment in the aircraft, and the T2 bombsight we used in the Canberra was a modification of the Mark 14, which as you rightly said was designed and built in 1940, after the Bomber Command said you don’t want to lose any more crews, but if you wanted an accurate bombsight, you had to fly straight and level for so long and you can get shot down while you’re doing it. You go for a bit of evasion and then you accept an average error of four hundred yards, so what blanket bombing was, was seeking to knock out the factories, seeking to kill the workers who worked in those factories, because they were in the zone. Just pass the zone with enough bombers to allow for breakages on the way there and a certain number of bombs, the probability is, you covered every point of the carpet, but you kill civilians and that was a deliberate policy before Bomber Harris took charge of Bomber Command. He just carried it out. He gets blamed for it but it was Churchill that was the prime instigator.
MH: I’ll step you back in time if I may.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: Back to your favourite aircraft being the Canberra. Could you take me through, or take the people that are going to listen to this later on, through right the way from mission start to mission end? What would have been your role and what you did, what you wore, because I remember you saying when you got up to a very high level of forty eight thousand feet, you found yourself very cold.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: And reflecting upon that bombers during the World War Two, of course, had problems with freezing guns and that sort of thing, that they couldn’t then operate to defend themselves, so it’s the similar sort of scenario there, with the freezing element.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: But then the crews in World War Two, of course, wore the sheepskin clothing, etcetera, that was designed to keep them warm and the leather helmet, etcetera. If you could take us through what your, how you, your day would have gone from mission start to mission end.
JBP: Right. Yes, I can do that. I’ll think of a particular mission. I was flying an exercise, a Bomber Command exercise, testing out capabilities of ships at sea and aircraft finding them. I’m stationed at Honington, near Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, a member of 15 Squadron. My pilot is Flight Lieutenant John Garstin. The nav plotter is Flying Officer Jock Logan and the navigator observer is myself [pause]. We have a meal and then we’re taken by RAF vehicle lorry or bus or Land Rover to the briefing room, collecting on our way, the parachutes which are the type which you sit on [pause]. We go to the, entering the briefing room we go to get our equipment out of the store, which is where we keep it. The first thing that I put on is some thermal underpants, stretching down to just below my knee and a thermal top. The next item of clothing I put on, if its winter, it’s a woollen cover for the body and the arms. If it’s summer, probably nothing particularly special. A thick pair of socks, because it’s amazing how cold you get in your feet and extremities, so you need a thick pair of socks, woolly socks and flying boots which are designed so that if you get shot down over enemy territory you can cut off the, the bit of a boot that looks like a flying boot and you’re left with a pair of reasonably serviceable shoes, which look a bit like shoes for escape and evasion. Having got yourself dressed in that gear, you then put on your flying overall. In my day they weren’t the colours they are today, it was a kind of grey blue with the squadron badge on the pocket and the rank on the shoulders, on little bits of material that can be slid on and off and used elsewhere. The next item of clothing is a pressure vest. Now a pressure vest, the function of the pressure vest is if the, what do they call it, we were pressurised down to a certain level for operational work. If we were flying at forty thousand feet, then the cabin pressure is pressurised to make the inside of the cabin twenty five thousand feet, so flying at twenty five thousand feet, if you’ve got an explosive decompression at that artificial height, you quickly go to forty thousand and this is where the pressure vest kicks in. The moment there’s any change of pressure, the pressure vest inflates and the inflation is to guard against damage being done to your breathing. It’s connected up with the oxygen system which is fed to you under pressure anyway, and there’s a clip on here, the oxygen mask attaches it to there, attaches to your helmet. Your helmet, strangely enough is not made of thick material, it’s made of a cotton. It’s washable cotton with the earpieces in and the, the nose I say, the nose of the thing fitting over you like that. You couldn’t operate at high levels without oxygen. You’re flying at forty thousand feet, there’s no way you can do without your oxygen. You’ve got to be taking your oxygen in otherwise you will start hallucinating, and as an observer, I had a little bottle of oxygen for when I went forward to the nose, or came back from the nose, I wasn’t on the mains supply system I had my own bottle, so I had to make sure I got that. Over the pressure vest I’d got what is popularly known as the Mae West, which is the bright yellow jacket with inflatable front like the famous actress. When you’re flying, you fly encased in your pressure vest, and on top of the pressure vest, no, your flying suit is underneath your pressure vest. That’s right. Switch on to the oxygen. I’ve got to look at the bomb bay and check that the bombs that we are going to drop are the ones that have been specified at the briefing, and I check that any settings that have to be made before take-off are made. I can set the bomb pattern inside the aircraft. It’s next to where I sit. It’s just here. And if you’re down in the nose, and you’ve got to suddenly set a pattern to come back, crawl back, set it, crawl forward. In other words, the aircraft was very cluttered as you saw. Because of the extra navigator and the extra bank seat on the original plans, all the space that would be available to a single nav isn’t available, because that’s put aside for the observer, and because of the observer the pilot seat instead of being centred under that plastic dome is to one side, so tall pilots kind of get a bit bent. They’re flying this way and this is crushing their head over like that, and they often have a bone dome on up on their helmet, so that the result is flying like that and not being able to see very well that way, and you can’t see behind anyway. No mirrors. There should have been a radar called yellow putter, but yellow putter proved to be unworkable in anything like operational conditions. It just didn’t work, so they scrapped it. We never had it on my squadron. We weren’t experimental, we were just routine main force. Dogsbodies. Having got all our equipment and our helmets, making sure that we have the right oxygen mask because we fly T2 bombers, we fly T4 dual control training aircraft and they provide one T4 training aircraft per squadron, so that we always have something to do CO’s checks and things like that in. But when you fly in the T4, you don’t have a pressure vest ‘cause the aircraft doesn’t go to that height. It only goes to twenty five thousand. You don’t do long trips so there’s only room for one navigator, because the two pilots have to have got to have bank seats. You’re mainly flying local simulations so you don’t have wing tip tanks, so you can do high speed runs in one of those, which is rather fun. Go to maximum four hundred and fifty knots, liked doing those, and occasionally we’d do full load take off, when we’d put six one thousand pound bombs on board and the pilot could feel the change in the trim, both taking off and landing. That was important that we did those regularly, ‘cause you’d be flying with twenty five pound practice bombs, they don’t make much difference to the handling of the aircraft, but six thousand pounds of bombs makes a big difference. You don’t do fancy aerobatics with six thousand pounds bombs on either. We then go into briefing. The briefing would be in terms of first of all, telling us what our target is and how we are to approach the target, what formation we are going to fly, the turning points and the times we’ve got to be at the various turning points. The emergency alternatives to our own airfield if we come back and we’re clamped up with fog or things like that. They would tell us where the enemy, for the purpose of the exercise, where the enemy are. That’s reported. Where they were steaming, which part of the North Sea we should be looking for and generally giving us data about the meteorological conditions, both on the way to the target and at the target. We always treat winds given to us by Met offices as a bit sceptical because they were seldom rarely right, and one of the jobs of the plotter is the navigator observer, he works the radar and gets the fixes every four minutes and then the plotter takes those fixes off my chart, and puts it on his chart and uses it to calculate variations in wind, which would call for a variation in course, and then you [unclear] travel at that time, at the back point, the pin point. You’ve got to hit it at the right time and we prided ourselves of getting there within six seconds, whereas the standard that was set which was easy with Gee. Now, when it came to dropping bombs, there were two briefings. The first briefing is if we were dropping twenty five pound practice bombs, one at a time, on the target. We could drop eight of those in two hours. The reason being that there is more than one aircraft using the bombing range at the same time. People on the ground have receivers so they can hear what the pilot says, so if you’re on your bombing run, your pilot switched on to transmit at the end of the bombing run, and you can hear the nav observer saying, ‘Steady. Steady. Steady Right. Right. Steady. Steady. Steady. Steady. Bombs gone’. And the pilot would echo, ‘Bombs gone’. And the people on the ground would then know, in so many seconds, a puff of smoke would show and we’d know where the bomb landed, and it was up to the people in the bomb proof shelters to get these bearings, pass them to a central control point by telephone. They would plot the three positions and get the fix of where the bomb actually hit and its relation to the target, so it could be 2 o’clock, a hundred yards. Mine laying was five hundred yards. That was visual bombing. GH bombing. I told you about Gee to get fixes, say where the aircraft position is, well GH uses the same equipment and the oscilloscope in the aircraft, but in this case, the master station, not the one that transmits the original signal, it’s the aircraft that puts the signal and it gets two replies and one gives you a course to steer to go over the target, pre-computers on the ground and the other gives you four points that you would check off one, two, three, four and when you tick off number four, you drop your bomb, so flying along in an arc, like that, and these lines have changed at right angles to that line, so you can navigate saying, ‘Right. Steady. Steady. Steady’, like you can with a visual bombing, but radar bombing at forty thousand feet is a lot more accurate, because with radar, you don’t have to see the target with your eyes. Visual bombing you’ve got to see the target with your eyes and often, if you are that high, the target is over the hill so you can’t see it. There are practical limitations with the visual bombsights.
MH: You mentioned Gee.
JBP: Yeah.
MH: Was it the same sort of Gee system that the navigators would have had to rely on during Bomber Command in World War Two?
JBP: Definitely.
MH: The same, the same system, it hadn’t changed or had it been -
JBP: No, Gee had had its life, because the nice thing about Gee was that you kept the security of the aircraft, your own aircraft. An aircraft that transmits signals can be homed on to. The Germans could create a radar which could home on to the transmitters from, say, with aircraft with H2S, H2S bombing system was a radar bombing system where the sea was black, the land was light green and built up areas are bottle green. Now that was transmitting a signal ever millisecond or so and an enemy fighter could home in on that signal and blast it. And missiles, of course, are even more effective at homing into signals like that. So what was nice about Gee was that it was a passive system. The aircraft didn’t transmit anything. It just took a signal from a master station and then when they came in, two signals from the slave station and with the oscilloscope it could be a calculated reading, and you go to the chart, plot those two readings and that gives the position of the aircraft. Now you could, we practiced a thing called GH homings, Gee homings [unclear], and that was used extensively in Bomber Command when we were using the Gee systems in the mid-40s, because you could pre-determine from your chart what signals you needed to see to be in a certain position at a certain time.
MH: Right.
JBP: So you’d put these points that you wanted to put down and then you’d go back on the arc of the signals to where you wanted to start tracking on to that. So say you were, went to Berlin, massive big target so it doesn’t really matter where you hit, but if you got a line going through the target, another line telling you when you got to the target, like a homing back to base, you can actually fly a course using Gee, a bit more complicated than GH but you could do that from 1942 onwards, ‘cause GH came in in 1944 and there was no doubt that, by the time I joined the Air Force, visual bombing was in decline, except for the Canberra, because they couldn’t miniaturise the H2S radar enough to fit into the Canberras size of aircraft, and what advantage we had and this, for many years, people don’t realise this the Canberra was a wonderful high altitude aircraft. You’re talking about it going, it had world records for fifty seven thousand feet at one stage, but an aircraft that could fly at that height and manoeuvre is very rare and the fighters with swept back wings couldn’t do that. The MIG15s found, always found Canberras a headache because when you tried to formate on it, you couldn’t get near it and if you tried to outmanoeuvre it, the Canberra was far better because of the big wing section between the engines but I felt very happy flying in Canberras. It was a good aircraft, just as the Mosquito had been before it because it was a replacement for the Mosquito.
MH: And did as many roles.
JBP: Yeah. And it was the only aircraft that served fifty six years operationally in the RAF. No other aircraft has gone beyond fifty years. I’d like to say it was because of myself you know [laughs]
MH: What would you say was your happiest time or your happiest moment or your happiest reflection in the RAF?
JBP: It sounds silly. We were only at Cottesmore for nine months, but there was a couple from Sheffield who joined the squadron two months after I did, and the husband was called Alf. Alf Bentley and his wife was Joan Bentley and they were quite a bit younger than me. In fact, they were the youngest married couple on the squadron. I think he was just, Alf was just on his twenty, just over twenty when he came to the squadron, and they had a son in ‘54 and twins in 1956. No. They were both born the same. Yes, Steve was born in January and the twins came in Christmas of the following year. They had three in ten months and I’m godfather to the eldest, and at the time that Steven was born, they had a sixteen foot caravan on the caravan site, and we had the main gate for RAF Cottesmore and next to that was the wooden huts for junior officers, ‘cause they didn’t have a properly built mess and we were all close together and the station similar, so there’s three groups. So the pattern we got into was that myself and Harry Tomkinson and Bob Haines, Bob flew as a navigation plotter in Pete Dyson and Alf Bentley’s crew, and we’d go up in the evenings to their caravan, and sometimes we go to the station cinema, and sometimes just play card games and board games, and of all my moments in the Air Force, the best moments were eating soft biscuits that Joan were trying to get rid of, and playing, playing monopoly and laughing like anything with Steven sleeping away. The day I came out of the cinema, I got a post here playing cricket at Usworth, and knocked a tooth out -
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Brian Payne
Creator
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Mark Hunt
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-06-08
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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APayneJB150608
Format
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01:51:04 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Second generation
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Cambridgeshire
Cyprus
Greece
North Africa
Egypt
Libya
Libya--Tobruk
England--Duxford (Cambridgeshire)
Description
An account of the resource
John Payne was born in 1932 and went into the Royal Air Force as part of his National Service, becoming a Navigator on the Canberra aircraft with 15 Squadron. His father went into the combined service in the First World War, and was training to be a pilot when the war ended in 1918. This prompted his desire to fly. John tells of his enjoyment of flying the Tiger Moth aircraft during his training at RAF Digby, and his experiences of his many travels to RAF stations.
He spent some time in Greece, taking part in intruder exercises, and also recalls his time spent near Tobruk and tells of his experiences including visiting a German war memorial. John participated in the Suez Canal crisis, and details his operations in Cyprus and Egypt, and the problems that this created from a navigational point of view. He tells about his meetings with Flight Lieutenant John Garstin and also Wing Commander Nath, the most decorated pilot of the Indian Air Force and the part they played in his life. John flew the T2 Canberra named Willie Howe 725 now on display at Duxford.
Contributor
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Vivienne Tincombe
Temporal Coverage
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1956
1957
15 Squadron
aircrew
faith
Gee
memorial
navigator
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Digby
Tiger Moth
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1109/11598/ASampsonJ150821.1.mp3
3a9de23e844b76ca7db04b57a6757550
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Sampson, James
J Sampson
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with James Sampson DFC ( -2018, 134703, 1321810, Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a navigator with 102 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-08-21
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Sampson, J
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
JS: That one. Right. Let’s have a —
DB: That’s wonderful so far. Loving it so far. Because I can’t speak you’ll find my face is —
JS: Yes.
DB: Going up and down —
JS: Which one is on?
DB: Just press this one again.
JS: Press engage.
DB: And it should restart it.
JS: So come back to that. This will be getting cold.
DB: No. No. No. That’s —
JS: Is yours alright?
DB: Yeah. I’ve been, I’ve been able to drink while you’ve been talking but —
JS: Yes. That was a hell of a coincidence.
DB: A very very big coincidence.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So he was the pilot.
JS: Bill.
DB: Yes.
JS: But he was a sergeant.
DB: No, that’s fine. If you, when you restart it if you could mention that at some point.
JS: Oh, yes. Yes.
DB: So, but, because [pause] that would be wonderful. Actually, while, while you’ve got it switched off —
[pause]
DB: It does help if you take the cap off.
JS: Oh, yes. Yes. Don’t mean a thing if you don’t pull the string as they used to say.
DB: That’s right. The trouble with this lens is it’s quite big.
[pause]
DB: That’s lovely [camera shutter click] don’t play me up. Got that [camera shutter click] That’s lovely. I like to take photographs of my veterans as I call them. Take one of you and Joy together later as well. But it’s lovely with the clock just ticking in the background as well. It’s really, it’s really quite old fashioned and nice.
JS: Yes.
DB: So —
JS: Don’t be surprised if a fox suddenly appears out here or a muntjac deer.
DB: Oh. Oh, I like muntjac. Yeah.
JS: We had one in the garden yesterday.
DB: I live, I live on the edge of a training area just, just outside Thetford.
JS: Oh, my grandson used to go there regularly.
DB: Yeah.
JS: his picture’s over there. He was a captain in the Welsh Guards.
DB: Oh. Right. Okay. Well, basically we get muntjac, we get fallow.
JS: Yes. You would do there wouldn’t you?
DB: I’m sure we get foxes as well. Not that I’ve seen one. But I’ve seen a badger and I’ve seen stoats.
JS: My son in law was standing looking out of the window not more than about four weeks ago and he said, ‘My God.’ A fox leapt out and grabbed a rabbit.
DB: Oh. Yes.
JS: Yes.
DB: Yeah. We caught, well, my dog quite often finds dead rabbits which I think must be foxes or badgers. So I can understand what you’re saying but yeah it’s lovely and quiet out here.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So, but —
JS: Let’s go on shall we?
DB: Yeah.
[recording paused]
JS: I’ve lost my track.
DB: That’s alright. Take your time. Have a think about it and then —
JS: One day [pause] I’ll show you something. This is a lot of development work that I did on radar.
DB: Oh right. Okay.
JS: You know the principle of radar?
DB: Yeah. My, my dad was an air trafficker.
JS: Was he?
DB: Yeah.
JS: Yeah.
DB: In the air force so I know —
JS: They had a cupola under the aircraft.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Which sent out signals and they bounced back and you got a reflection.
DB: Yes.
JS: If they landed over water they kept on going. If they hit land —
DB: It would, it would bounce back up to you.
JS: We went, I shall come to it shortly. We went out one night —
DB: Yeah.
JS: This is Oslo. Look, there’s the Oslo fjord there.
DB: Oh right. Okay.
JS: Oslo’s there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: That is the [Horton] Narrows which are a bit further down and we laid mines there.
DB: Oh, you did some vegetable sowing did you?
JS: We did. Yeah. That’s right. Yes. Narcissus and daffodils. And apparently we bottled up troopships with twenty six thousand German soldiers.
DB: Wonderful.
JS: Who were going down to the, meet the boys coming up from Normandy.
DB: Oh, well you’ll have to mention that one when, at some point.
JS: Yes. Well, that’s the sort of work that I did. Which —
DB: Yeah.
JS: Gus Walker kept me back for.
DB: Oh wonderful.
JS: What we did was I’d, luckily I had a team. There was a warrant officer who couldn’t fly any more who was quite knowledgeable and the sergeant who ran the photo section. And I wanted to be able to demonstrate to new crews the new equipment. H2S as it was called.
DB: Yeah. Yeah. I’ve heard of it.
JS: And so eventually what we did was we had the screen there and we got a frame.
DB: Yeah.
JS: That fitted and we had a little Brownie camera on the end of it there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And we got the right focal depth, distance there and when you got wherever you wanted to take pictures you just swung it around and it clipped on. This is all our thinking did this and you, the light time took to go around it was, twice round was the exposure time.
DB: Right.
JS: It went dunk dunk and we got these photographs so not only were we able to tell whether they’d been there and done the job.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But also we used this for the aiming point.
DB: Yes.
JS: What we didn’t, if you look at the middle where it comes down.
DB: Yes.
JS: You get a concentration of signal there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And it gradually thins out as you come around there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: So, in the middle that’s where the aeroplane is. There.
DB: Right.
JS: In the middle.
DB: Yeah.
JS: That’s the distance ring.
DB: Yeah.
JS: That’s the bearing.
DB: Yeah.
JS: You turn that around and —
DB: Yeah.
JS: So what we used to do was in the middle like this it’s very difficult to see exactly in the mush there where the middle is.
DB: Yeah. Yeah.
JS: That’s not. It’s more like that there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: So you couldn’t be totally accurate so what we used to do we used to take a bearing in the distance from another point.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And fly the screen up there.
DB: So you’d triangulate.
JS: Well, yes but if we wanted to lay a mine there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: We had a headland that stuck out like that.
DB: Oh right. Okay.
JS: Instead of flying there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: The navigator was able to, ‘Left. Left. Right. Right.’ and fly a bearing in the distance which he set up before he took off.
DB: Yeah.
JS: When I look at that piece of land and it‘s at a certain angle and a certain distance away from me I’m there.
DB: That’s, that’s very clever.
JS: So we did that.
DB: Very clever
JS: I’ll show you that later. Anyway —
DB: Yeah. Well, that’s lovely. They’ll be really interested in what you just said there because that’s really unusual. That’s not the sort of thing that people talk about so —
JS: Well, no, it’s, it’s the work we did quietly just the three of us. We actually then developed a radar trainer for the chaps so that they weren’t very good on, look if you tried to find out the detail of which town is which there and which piece —
DB: Yeah.
JS: Of the town it is it’s a mess because this was very elementary equipment.
DB: No. That’s really, that’s really interesting that is.
JS: So, we had a link trainer for the pilots. Remember the old link?
DB: Yes, I’ve seen the link trainer at —
JS: We had one for the navigators where we actually had a crab that used to crawl across and so they could, and then we used to make a plate with the coastline and what, what they might expect to see based on what we’d already found out and so on. So that the, it appeared exactly the same on the screen over this tank of water.
DB: Yeah.
JS: With some sand in it.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Which sank to the bottom that it would when they got and saw the actual thing.
DB: Oh wow. Oh yes. You must tell them about, about what you did with that.
JS: Yes.
DB: Because that’s very unusual. That’s very unusual stuff.
JS: So —
DB: But —
JS: We ought to, let’s have a look at the notes here [pause] Yes. Because I haven’t said, I should go back and say a bit more about the lead up to the joining. I could do that later.
DB: Yes. Perhaps, use it as a, like a, almost like a conclusion. But —
JS: Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
[pause]
JS: Yeah. I haven’t said anything about weather, have I?
DB: You started to talk about it but you didn’t, you didn’t finish off talking about it.
JS: Can I play that bit again back then? Just that last bit.
DB: Let’s, let’s see if we can. Let’s see if we can play it back.
JS: When I asked you if you were a vegetarian?
DB: I’m just trying to remember how to —
[recording paused]
JS: I think we should say a bit more about the weather because it was so vital to the whole of the operation and people will have a good idea what I’m talking about because they look at their television every day, two or three times a day and they can see the kinds of charts and things that are produced. Particularly the ones with the biometric pressures shown on them and they can see the, where the low pressures tend to be more accurate than the high pressure systems and therefore the wind speeds are very much different as well. If you want an extreme look at a cyclone or a tornado they are acute low pressure systems. If you want to think about high pressure systems look at when you are getting five days or six days of sunshine, virtually no wind at all and you’ll know that’s a high pressure system. And so they tend to match each other out of the way. If they come from the northeast they’re usually pretty cold and, and, and sometimes damp. If they come from the northeast from Scandinavia or Russia they are usually damp, cold and dry and the reverse is true with the southwest and the southeast. So you can see the difference it made to us. I mean coming back from trips what was the weather going to be like? Were we going to be able to get in at base? Had we got enough petrol left in the event we were shunted off somewhere else? All these things came into play and particularly so in the case of when the Germans were pushing in the Ardennes with the Battle of the Bulge. It was foggy all over Europe so we couldn’t possibly operate satisfactorily. But fortunately, at Carnaby in the northeast and in Suffolk at Woodbridge we had two lame duck aerodromes where they could land God knows how many aircraft because it was about five aircraft wide and several miles long with overshoots and undershoots. They’d landed them there and they also had the fog dispersal apparatus there. FIDO. Like a row of giant Bunsen burners to lift the fog up high enough to get underneath it. So it wasn’t impossible to overcome it but for the ordinary chap coming in fog could be a hazard as it was the day we ploughed up the potato field landing at the wrong end of the runway when it clamped down. But people should understand the effects of wind. They should understand the effects of, of the whole weather system indeed because in truth our meteorological officers didn’t have a great deal at their disposal to forecast themselves. So we found out when we took off and sailed in to it. Wind, wind speed could vary enormously and with height because it moves faster up there than it does down on the ground. The most I’ve ever had was one night we were flying on a particular mine laying operation and we climbed above a dreadful cold front whereas the other four or five aircraft came below it and had lightning dancing all over the props for ages. And we had new engines on the Halifax at the time and up we went to twenty four thousand five hundred when we came out at the top and coming home it was like coming down Everest, you know. It was a giant white sheet in front of us of cloud and the windspeed believe it or not was a hundred and forty knots. We got home in record time. We were down, debriefed, had our meal, had a bath and gone to bed before the next aeroplane got back but it was also minus fifty five degrees centigrade. People don’t realise that the air temperature depreciates by an average of two degrees centigrade per thousand feet. So if you’re up at nearly twenty five thousand feet and it’s minus fifty centigrade less than it was on the ground when you took off and it was damned cold when we took off so, and there’s no heating in the aircraft. The rear gunner had an electrically operated suit but the rest of us shared a so-called hot air pipe that was, I mean our aircraft were only a thin skin of of aluminium or the like and acted like a refrigerator on the [unclear] without what was going on outside. So life could be pretty uncomfortable sitting there trying to use a pen and, a pen and pencil and various little instruments that required a rather delicate touch. And even now, today I can’t touch anything hot because the skin started coming off my fingers. However, the weather really and the weather systems are really a study all on their account but it was part of our training and part of our safety device that we should know all about it. There was another night and I think it was the night of the Nuremberg raid when losses were pretty high several of us who had the advantage of H2S we only had one flight out of three on our squadron that was equipped with it for a long time. Some squadrons had nothing at all. It was because we had that one flight that we got most of the mine laying operations but this particular night we were asked, the navigators who had the advantage of that to send, as they crossed the enemy coast back the wind speed and directions that they were finding. I think I sent back a windspeed of about ninety seven and it was a little bit more than that even but a lot of chaps were finding, saying, ‘Christ, I’ve gone wrong here somewhere. It can’t possibly be.’ And it ended up with a lot of Bomber Command losses because aircraft who received that information and used it were blown, I’m sad to say miles and miles and miles off to the portside and down into Europe and ran out of petrol. They must have done. There again we’ve said that the weather is really a subject on its own when of course so is radar. We were lucky at Pocklington when I arrived because the flight that my pilot was in command of as from arrival at Pocklington were equipped with H2S so I was learnt to use it willy nilly and was grateful to get it because every time we crossed the coast it was like reading a map sat there in front of me. It didn’t help you much once you got in line, in land because the definition as you’ll see from those pictures there isn’t all that wonderful. You know there’s a town there but it’s difficult to pick up the information you required to bomb accurately with it. I mean, now it’s so different. I came back from one of my journeys to the east and the pilot knew that I had been flying during the war with Bomber Command as he had, and he called me up and sat me down in the third pilot’s seat and he showed me their radar when we were leaving Cairo Airport. He was able to point and say, ‘That is the toe of Italy.’ He could see that the range was that good. Our ranges were nothing like that whatsoever and the definition certainly wasn’t so you could see they never really needed navigators on commercial airlines as we badly needed them in Bomber Command. We didn’t say as much as we should have done I think possibly about the efforts of Bomber Command in the early days of the war. We mentioned that they didn’t do very well because sadly they, they didn’t have the means of doing anything else. The poor old air observer. What could you see on the ground at night which he was trained to do because he was only a very elementary navigator but a very good map reader. If you can’t see anything you can’t map read. One of the, one of the most well known was, oh what was the name of that fellow who did, “The Sky at Night.”? Moore. He was an air observer and pretty proud of it too and always said he was an air observer and stuck to his old brevet with the circle and the O but the facts were that Bomber Command needed good navigators and in fact the whole trip was really a navigational exercise. They were all, everyone was a part of that operation in a sense but Bomber Command were landing bombs and decoys at the Germans in fields and never never it seems on the actual target and they had a script put under them that said, ‘Either you do better or you won't exist.’ And that's when we go back to the formation of the courses for straight navigators. Which even so it was very difficult to find a navigator on any one of the squadrons who was, got any higher than a flight lieutenant. I think now if you look you find one or two who reached the dizzy heights of perhaps a wing commander or a group captain. But of course, the pilots themselves are coming under attack now because we've got drones and other means of flying aeroplanes that don't require them. They fly a desk as they call it now. Sit there and twiddle knobs.
[pause]
We’ve done, we’ve dealt with Met. We dealt with the question of when the penny dropped in London to that they put paid to the, and I suppose now what we should really do is to talk about one or two things in particular. Pocklington. 102 Squadron. Because we had that H2S tended to land most of the mining laying operations. Now, the Halifax could cope with that. The Halifax wasn't designed as a bomber. The Halifax was designed as a transport and converted. The Lancaster was designed as a bomber and therefore built if you like around a damn great bomb bay where they could get really big ones in. We couldn't. But we could get four sea mines in if they gently wound up, not hydraulically raise the bomb doors because they didn't quite close. So we could take four sea mines and with that equipment, the H2S we tended to get most of the mine laying jobs which were all very well in their way but they were a bit lonely. They often took place when no one else in Bomber Command was flying because the weather wasn't good, the moon was up or whatever so you must have appeared on German radar as big blips. And we did three in particular. We did a trip to Oslo where we mined the entrance at [Horton] to the Oslo fjord and bottled up troop ships. We did one which was quite a trip to block up the Kiel Canal at the Hamburg end at Brunsbüttel which I know well because my career in shipping afterwards took me across to Hamburg quite regularly. But we laid mines across there and there were only the four of us on the, on the trip. We took mines and we took some bombs and the idea was that the mines would disappear in the water. No one would know about those but if the mines did go a bit astray because it was a very small target they were being aimed at and we had some bombs on the Germans might think this is a bombing raid rather than a mine laying raid. But apparently we did get one or two in between us. Actually, I’ll always remember that trip because the curtains parted when we were on the approach and the startled face of my bomb aimer said, ‘A Focke Wulf 190 missed us by that much.’ And we think he had been vectored on to us and we were in cloud. When we came out he came out but we were gone and so was he. He'd never be able to turn and get back at us. We reckon that was probably a narrow squeak. And then on another night we went down to Bordeaux and we mined the river and blocked in four German destroyers down there. So, you know minelaying was quite an operation and apparently a lot of ships were sunk in the Baltic because there was a big trade. The Germans with their ball bearings from Sweden for example. Mind you we had ball bearings from Denmark. My company was involved in running ball bearings from Denmark in a couple of fast torpedo boats and I talked to the captains about it. They sort of came out of harbour in the dead of night and at some enormous speed, belted their way across back home with the ball bearings. So there was that one but we did many many others and always felt quite lonely doing it. But apparently, we did them to the Navy’s satisfaction because as you know because you mentioned it the narcissus and daffodils and that was why we called it gardening. Not mine laying. It was always we were going gardening. So we're really coming to the point where we might discuss or look back perhaps more than anything. I will always remember Bomber Command came in for a hell of a lot of criticism and most of it totally unfairly. We were given the job to do by Churchill and the job was done most satisfactorily and if you read Albert Speer's book you'll see that he confesses in there that in the early days he could just about cope with the damage being caused to industry in Germany but latterly he didn't have a hope in hell of, despite what he did going into the mountains and caves and things of keeping up. It was a losing battle. You've had comments from Eisenhower, Montgomery, General Alexander, saying, ‘Thank you, Bomber Command for the tremendous cooperation we received from you.’ The Navy. We’d laid all those mines at the request of the Navy and it's clear from the records now that the Bomber Command sunk more German capital ships and submarines than the Royal Navy. Not disparaging the Navy's efforts in the North Atlantic which were marvellous but simply because we could get at them where they were gone in for supplies, where they had gone in for repairs, where they were being built, didn’t let them get off the stock and apparently we sunk a tremendous amount of shipping at the same time. So, you know, Bomber Command wasn't just a sweet face it was doing a hell of a job and that Dresden business was a debacle. Poor old Churchill came back with an earful of Stalin who wanted Dresden because Dresden, he was advancing from the east as much as we may have disliked it. But Dresden was being used as a giant marshalling yard. You also had people like Zeiss. Volkswagen had a place or there was a motor car industry there. So it was a legitimate target. But Churchill had come back and said to Harris, do Dresden. But the Americans did it the day before. The RAF did it at night and did it again after. So it wasn't just Bomber Command. So it was most unfair. But looking back well I was lucky I supposed to come out of it. I had moments. I was in three total write offs. When Bomber Command days finished or the war in Europe finished I was crewed up with the squadron commander to go and do another tour. But it meant that we were automatically on call to go to the Far East when the war in Europe finished. And that wasn't a very pleasant thought because the Japanese tended to chop your head off if you were an airman and caught. But fortunately, two atom bombs later and that finished as well. But in the meantime we had been posted from Pocklington to Bassingbourn where we became 53 Squadron. We converted to Liberators because they were a longer range and we were going trooping. They sealed up the bomb bays and put seats in there for soldiers. And it was on one of those trips landing at Tripoli in North Africa which was the first staging post. The wind caught us as we came in. The Liberator had, didn't have the strutted undercarriage we had like a fighter. It was just one big oleo leg and the starboard one hit the end of the runway which was about that much concrete and tore it up. So we careered along on one wheel until we lost speed and went around and around like a Catherine Wheel but we managed all of us to walk away from that one. I had the one where I explained we finished up in a potato field landing at the wrong end of Pocklington runway and we had another one where we did, the only time Bomber Command did a daylight raid we went to Homberg. It was basically 4 Group that did it and the flak was enormous. It was like a carpet of black. And when we got back it was dusk when we landed. Usual drill. Wireless operator went down to one of the side windows underneath the wing. ‘Yes skipper, the undercarriage is down.’ ‘Okay. Thanks.’ In we came and of course you know we still did the old three point landing. Not like the American tricycle undercarriage which was much better and we held off and held off and held off. We thought, God we've got to touchdown soon. And when we touched down it was on the hub caps. On the hubs. We’d had our tyres all shot away, both of them so we had nothing to land on and it was like having a pneumatic drill up your earpiece and we swung off the runway and eventually ploughed up and finished there so we walked away from that one. So having walked away from three write offs you know one shouldn't tempt Providence I would think. I think one or two other things I could go on to talk about but coincidences, yes. Yes, I was coming off a train at Kings Cross Station on the Metropolitan Line walking up the stairs and who should I come face to face with passing a corner but my old pilot, Squadron Leader [Gutcher] who was going home from his boring job in Air Ministry. Fortunately, it was right outside the door of a little bar so we went in there and and talked about old times but I don't think he was treated as well as he should have been with his record anyway.
DB: Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about the other characters in your crew.
JS: The other characters. Oh yes, there was, well as I said there was Bill Barlow, a big shambling man who was a ballroom dancing champion in his spare time strangely enough who really was a lovely man but was killed on that one trip that he did. The, Alan Gaye the pilot we finished with he and I corresponded. He lived in Brisbane in Australia. Very dour sort of a fellow but a very honourable gentleman. My wireless operator was absolutely the personification of Mr Barraclough in “Porridge.” He was determined because you know before the war we were coming through a most dreadful recession and life was pretty rotten for most people and jobs were hard to get. I left school with a school certificate which was a bit unusual in those days as there weren't very many of them around and took from July to October before I found a job and I joined a firm called the Ellerman Line. They were a gigantic shipping group with about eight companies in the group and was lucky to get a job there on a pound a week. When you think about it a pound a week and they said to me, ‘And Sampson each year you will get an increase of five shillings a week. So when you're four years into your employment here you will be earning two pounds a week and then the sky's the limit.’ Little did I know that the sky wasn't the one they were thinking about that I finished up with and it was about that sort of time that I was walking home with my mother from, we'd been out visiting, perhaps I was a few years younger. And it was a time when a little bit of gentle rearmament was in the air and there was a searchlight practising and eventually it caught a lone aircraft and lit it up in the sky and I said, ‘Look at that. It's amazing, isn't it?’ And little did I know about three years later I myself was caught in searchlights a time or two. And we had a wonderful drill the boffins said to us, ‘Now, if you're caught in searchlights,’ mind you they weren’t the ones going out to do it, ‘If you are caught in searchlights sit there and count fourteen seconds because that's how long it takes for them to transfer the information from the search, master searchlight to the gunners to lay the guns and pull the trigger.’ So we were expected, us boys to sit there counting and I must say first of all being coned it's like being lit up on a stage in a theatre that's totally unoccupied. Suddenly there you are for the whole world to see. And if they thought we were going to count to fourteen they had to think, we actually started religiously counting, we got to ten and we said, ‘We're going to peel off now. We're not hanging about here.’ And we lost the searchlights and that happened more than once. But being coned in searchlights was a great leveller. You suddenly felt totally naked. And unfortunately for us the majority of our trips were into the Ruhr which was the most heavily defended piece of Germany you ever invented. If you looked on our maps in the briefing rooms the searchlights were in yellow plastic, anti-aircraft in red and the Ruhr was a lump like that of red and yellow. There were odd patches in other places like Berlin, Hamburg and so on but that one. And we finished our tour with two trips to Duisburg in one night. Yeah, we gave Duisburg a real pasting. We were on target a winter’s night. We were on target the first time but I think I’ve got it here. In the late evening and we got back and they said ‘Don't go to bed you’re going back again.’ And they were the last two trips that we had to do so we did two in one night. We considered ourselves very lucky. I’ve marked one or two little bits here. Where was it? [pause] So we did our two trips to Duisburg and finished our tour. And it was rather amusing later in life when the 102 Association sent me a letter from the Mayor of Duisburg saying, talking about what had happened and would I care to comment on it. Expecting me to be conciliatory I think. And I said, ‘For a lad who didn't want to fight, who spent five years in the Air Force having to fight because of Germany,’ I said. ‘And who night after night after night after night had to come home in the Blitz. Crossing the river from Waterloo to Charing Cross where they closed the underground for safety reasons and having to walk across Hungerford Bridge.’ Do you know Hungerford Bridge by, it runs alongside Charing Cross mainline station? ‘Is a very lonely thing when you're on your own, the waters lapping down on your right hand side and there are aircraft bombing overhead and you're hoping to get in to the Charing Cross Station the other side keeping your head on your body.’ I said, ‘If you think I'm going to say I'm sorry. I'm most certainly not sorry. You had it coming to you and you got it. With a bit of luck you won’t try and do it again.’
An experience I would like to mention is that towards the end of our tour we were being supplied with American bombs. The short squat ones as opposed to our longer, what appeared to be more done streamlined version and when we came back one night in our circuit we had to get very close to the circuit at Elvington and we noticed there was a fire on the runway. And it transpired it was the commanding officer of one of the Free French squadrons who coming back had had a hang up, a bomb frozen up in the thing so to all intents and purposes it was hanging free and when they touched down it fell, came through the bomb doors and, and blew up. And so the next day two crews, one was ours was selected to go out into the North Sea with a selection of a thousand pounders and five hundred pounder American bombs and we were under instructions to drop fifty percent live, fifty percent safe, you know. When we were approaching the target the cry would go up and I would have to log it, ‘Bombs fused and selected.’ By selection a hook came down and caught in the loop of a wire which held a locking plate on the end of the bomb to stop the fins. And so when you got back they would merely open the bomb doors and look to see if all the bits were hanging there and see if you'd done your job and dropped them all out. So we had to drop fifty percent live and fifty percent [pause] What's the word I'm trying to think of? Safe. Live and safe. Which we did and you have to remember of course that when a bomb comes out of an aeroplane it travels forward at the speed of the aircraft for a while and then loops down in a, in a parabola and then you drop a bomb from twenty thousand feet it's two miles before it hits the deck. So our old lumbering Halifaxes by the time we had dropped them we were ordered to drop them from a thousand, or was it five hundred feet [pause] and each one we dropped, live and safe they all blew up. So it looked as though there were some fault which was a bit harsh because don't forget people were handling those bombs on the ground saying, ‘Alright they’re safe. Don't worry lad.’ And we got a terrible jolting from a lot of those when they went off I can tell you. And the other aircraft which was under the command of a South African didn't come back and we thought perhaps he’d had copped it from one of these bombs and gone in. We had a big sea search for them. Found nothing but I had, was brought into the discussion because relations of crew members got in touch with me to say, ‘You were on that. There were only two aircraft. What can you tell us?’ And I had to say what I've just told you but in later life it transpires whether old Tommy went on a crusade of his own but his aircraft wreck was found in Holland. So whether he said, ‘I've got a load of bombs on board some bugger is going to get these and I don't care who it is.’ And I've got the story written there because we had on our, we were a very cosmopolitan squadron 102, in brackets Ceylon Squadron, that's why Kularatne’s father was posted. He was the only Ceylonese we ever had actually. And one night we had eight South Africans arrived from the South African Army Air Corp. Lovely fellows all of them and Thompson was one of those. Eight came. Four didn't go back. If you look at this, the “War Diary of Pocklington” you'll find that on two nights Pocklington who operated twenty five aircraft as a maximum effort lost eleven and when you think there's seven in each one of those you go in and the mess is like a morgue. And then all the new crews arrive and you think Christ why are there so many of us new crews arriving? They’ve had a clear out have they? You'll find one or two like that when we lost five or four or three but you know we we didn't fly at any great speed. We flew out of the target at a hundred and forty seven knots. And the Rolls Merlin engines that we had they changed them. Being a base station with a big repair reception and repair hangar there we were one of the first to get them. They put Bristol radial engines in. The radial engine is where all the cylinders are on the outside instead of in a line like a motor car engine and they were absolutely marvellous. They made a fabulous difference to the old Halifax. When I told you about the mine laying trip that we did, climbed above it because we had those new, new engines that we could, instead of staggering to the enemy coast to try and get to ten thousand feet we could do it over the aerodrome by going twice around with them. I realise now that I got stuck on Jack Jarvis the wireless operator. We were explaining life was very difficult in the ‘30s in finding jobs and he had an uncle that was a prison officer and he was born out of wedlock which was something in those days. He would never apply for a commission because it might come up so we got him promoted to warrant officer very quickly and he said he’d got a job lined up. His uncle would get him in to the Prison Service so when he got back to his home in Battle, he lived in Battle down where the 1066 and all that sprung from he was going in to the Prison Service. And as I said if ever there was a Mr Barraclough it was old Jack telling us stories about how he had his leg pulled by these, some of these prisoners. There were different prisoners in those days. They didn’t carry knives and guns or anything like that and they used to call him Mr Jarvis you know which made him feel quite good I think. And they used to have to take them on jobs outside prison to do painting and decorating and that sort of thing and leave them while they got on with it and go back for them later. He said he met one of these chaps later on in town and said, ‘Mr Jarvis, you never knew that when you used to leave us doing that painting job for that lady my wife was still running my builder’s business and she used to send a bloke along to take over from me and while he was doing my painting I was learning to fly.’ [laughs] And whenever we saw, “Porridge,” we always called him Mr Barraclough was Jack Jarvis. So that was dear old Jack. Marvellous fellow. The two gunners. The youngest, I mean to demonstrate that we were really boys in a sense the mid-upper gunner we had Donald Blyth who, now here’s another strange job. He worked for an undertaker and he was the man who walked in front with the black clobber on with tapes, black tapes in the back of his hat seeing the coffins safely on their way. But when he finished his tour he was still only just about nineteen years of age. Our flight engineer. Yes, the other. We had a rear gunner of course who went a bit funny on us at the end. His nerves got the better of him but it was only for the last couple of trips and he visualised fighters and he got us corkscrewing across the sky with his gun in a fixed position with the tracer making coloured rings going around. And our flight engineer Leslie Coolidge was an East End boy who eventually came home and went to work for de Havilland. But otherwise, I lost total touch with them until quite late on when I was approached by Donald Blyth who was the mid-upper gunner who got me together with Jack Jarvis and the three of us became quite good companions. Donald unfortunately never made it up here but Jack Jarvis came to ours and stayed with us two or three times and we went down and stayed in his prison officer’s house just at the back of Lewes jail. So, that was my crew but we really were a tightly knit community as a crew and I would never hear a word against them by anybody at all.
DB: It must have been very frightening for your mother when you were, when you were in London.
JS: Yes.
DB: When you were in the air.
JS: I think a little more about the pre-war days is useful because it was a very difficult time. Not only did we have the back end of the terrible economic situation where as I said I had a school certificate but it still took me from June until October to find a job. When I did have a stroke of good fortune because an old school friend of mine who was in the first year in to the school which had only just opened, I was in the third year in to the school but his father had got him a job with the Ellerman Lines. His father worked for the Board of Trade which became the Ministry of Shipping and he’d heard of a couple of jobs which had two chaps in the second year in to the school who took with the Ellerman Line and I was the fourth. And I worked for a firm, one of the companies engaged in the Mediterranean trade and it was another world. I joined as a post boy which meant that that you ran letters all day long around the streets. You ran backwards and forwards to the cable office. You went around emptying all the out-trays, filling up all the in-trays on, on the managers’ desks. You literally were at everyone’s beck and call. If my managing director wanted a sandwich out you went and you got him a sandwich. If he wanted his library books changed at the smutty library that some of these businessmen used my job was to go there and hope I could get out with my tail of my shirt still where it ought to be because some of the girls always wanted to help you choose the books [laughs] It was quite amusing. And then you, what you did you got when the time came you filled the vacancies in the department so you paid your money and you took your choice but the wages were of course at that time a pound a week. If you asked somebody to work called Dave for that sort of money I don’t know quite what they’d say today. But this is a case of looking back and seeing an entirely different world in which people lived and strangely enough they weren’t all unhappy with their lay in life because they simply didn’t know anything different. We were pretty hard up and happy. My mother worked like a trooper to make sure that we didn’t get rushed off by some well thinking social worker in to the kind of a workhouse situation that she’d been brought up in. My sister worked in a factory in Hampstead. A big paper firm it was Mansell, Hunt and Catty. They made bon bons, they made serviettes, they made doilies all that kind of thing. My brother went off to work when he was fourteen and he worked for a firm called Curry and Paxton who made spectacles and ground lenses and that kind of thing which kept him out of the thing but he worked twice as hard as most people because every night he came home and went down to the ack ack battery down on Kingsbury Green as it were. Managed to get home in time for breakfast and then back to work again. So really that was the sort of life we were living. But I went back to Ellerman’s after the war. I came out of the air force as a senior flight lieutenant earning about seven or eight hundred a year and I went back to Ellerman’s earning two hundred and thirty five pounds a year which was a bit of a shock. Fortunately, in between times a friend of mine who also went in the air force with me, we joined up on the same day, he played the piano and we formed a band and we used to go out playing and in fact could have played almost every night of the week because everyone danced their lives away in those days. Played right up until I went in to the air force and we got together again when I came out because a couple of members of the band were in reserved occupations and didn’t get called up so they had things lined up for us and I did that again for a few years. So I managed to get by. I met my first wife in Jersey on holiday and we were married. Sadly, she died when she was twenty six. She had a diseased heart which they couldn’t do anything about in those days. And I can remember the specialist saying to her because they’d just done, old Barnard had just done the first heart transplant at the Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town which in later years I passed by often when I was out there and he said to my wife, ‘If you could only hang on for a year or two I’ll give you a new heart.’ Sadly, she couldn’t and she died giving birth to our second child. We’d already had one son who was Richard but Christopher didn’t last more than a few weeks beyond his mother so he died too. And then I was very fortunate. A secretary came to work for me in Ellerman’s who has now been my wife for the last sixty years. Sixty next year actually, mustn’t boast and we finished up Richard my eldest son is still around. He lives down in Sheringham now he’s retired. A daughter, Ruth, who is a senior officer in the taxation business and a son who is qualified at just about everything. A barrister, a solicitor, he has got more letters after his name than the Pope I think. And so we are a very happy family. We’ve got five lovely grandchildren and now we’ve got two great grandchildren so we shall celebrate with all of them next year on our sixtieth and look forward to a happy time.
[recording paused]
But looking back on my brother and sister they were really children very much of their time because you could leave school at the age of fourteen then. As I said you couldn’t work before 7 o’clock in the morning if you were under eleven but that must seem rather strange to people when you talk about that. I did the paper round of course from the age of eleven to the age of eighteen but my brother and sister went into factories. In fact, I had a very large paper round and collected the money in every Sunday morning for which they paid me a shilling in the pound and I earned as much doing the paper round as my poor old brother did commuting down into Campden Town every day to grind lenses for Curry and Paxton. By that means I stayed at school and so at the end of the day it was very much worth it. Sadly, my mother only lived to see the first of the grandchildren because my brother had no children, my sister had one daughter who became a Tiller Girl. One of the old Tiller Girls who is now knocking on a bit herself of course [laughs].
[recording paused]
So back to my days after the war when I went back to Ellerman’s, I was lucky that I’d done well in the RAF and I was given a chance of going into every department in the company and I learned. I did every job technically that the company had to offer. All the way through the Accounts Department, the documentation departments. We were a large shipping company trading with most of the world and I eventually was put in to what we called the Far East Department where I became the assistant manager. I went to the Far East and I travelled the length and breadth. I was out there for three months to start with literally flying somewhere every second day and took over as the manager from there. I was given other managerial tasks including the prime South African trade and ultimately finished up as the managing director. So I went from post boy to managing director. So all the earlier privations were very much worthwhile. The only sad thing is that it wasn’t all done at the time when I could have done something a bit more for poor old mum who’d had a pretty hard life.
[pause]
JS: Can you think of anything I haven’t touched on?
DB: Perhaps life in the mess or in the local Pocklington area or, you know.
JS: Oh, I owned a local pub [laughs]
DB: Oh well that sort of thing. Perhaps have, have your sandwiches and you can have a think about what you’d —
JS: Yeah. Yeah.
DB: Seems to be a year for wasps. I had three in my room the other night.
JS: Hmmn?
DB: It seems to be a year for wasps. I had three in my room the other night.
JS: We just had a nest done.
DB: Oh right. Maybe we’ve got a nest in our block somewhere.
[pause]
DB: What made you choose this house?
JS: Well, we’ve always had a house up here. Apart from probably a gap of one year. The kids thought they’d got too old we virtually we lived on the beach in Sheringham. We lived on Cliff Road. Had a house in Cliff Road then.
DB: I know Cliff Road. Not very —
JS: We could just cut through down two ways straight on to the beach.
DB: Yeah
JS: We had a big dinghy I brought from a toy shop in Germany. Quite a big thing but we had a bloody great rope on it so we never let it go more than about fifteen yards.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But it we put everything in that to take to the beach.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Down to the beach and then back you know when we’d finished. Hot baths for the kids and a jolly good meal and they absolutely shone. They were. And they came up every day of every holiday.
DB: Oh wonderful.
JS: Christmas included. And we got to love Sheringham.
DB: I like Sheringham better than Cromer.
JS: No life in Cromer.
DB: There’s much more character in Sheringham because I used to live, I used to live in Walsingham so I used to go to to Wells on a regular basis.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So, so I knew Wells better.
JS: Our Lady of Walsingham. We haven’t been to Walsingham for quite a while have we? She used to live there.
JS2: Difficult to park there isn’t it?
DB: Oh, it is. Yeah. Right. I was a housekeeper at the abbey so —
JS2: Oh right.
DB: I didn’t have any problem.
JS2: The last time we went we went to there’s a new church, sort of out of town. We went there for a concert at night.
DB: Yes. I know, I know which one you mean. But —
JS: See that picture there.
DB: Oh, with the Queen Mother.
JS: The one nearest, the little boy nearest the camera is our grandson.
DB: Oh wonderful.
JS: He became leading soloist there in his last eighteen months.
DB: Oh really? Wow.
JS: So we had two grandsons went to St Paul’s.
DB: Right.
JS: My eldest grandson, his picture’s over there holding his little boy and he’s in that picture at the back where he’s passing out. The one on the right is him. The other one on the left is the other singing brother.
DB: Right.
JS: And the one in the middle is our granddaughter.
DB: Oh.
JS: Who has just presented us with a little grandson called Toby.
DB: Oh.
JS: But the eldest boy became a part of Prince Charles’s staff. He was an equerry to the Prince of Wales.
DB: Very nice for him.
JS: Playing football with Harry and —
DB: Harry and William.
JS: William up at Sandringham. Did his stuff in Afghanistan like most of them do these days.
DB: Of course. I did Iraq not Afghanistan fortunately so [pause] I was there for six months. That was interesting.
JS: When was that?
DB: 2003. I was there Gulf War Two. So —
JS: They never, I mean one has to say history repeated itself with the Germans. Which looking back on it now you can say how could they have made such a dreadful mistake? How could there have been so many appeasers and self seekers and people who never did any fighting anyway who led us into a position where we went to war against Germany totally unprepared? We had nothing.
DB: There’s a really good book called the, “The Right Of The Line.” And the guy who wrote that, and I can’t for the life of me remember what name, what his name is at the minute but he, he covered that in extensively and I just can’t believe like you say that we let it get that bad.
JS: We paid the price.
DB: Yeah. We can’t let it get that bad. Did you have anything to do with the Short Stirling at all?
JS: No. No. We didn’t.
DB: No. You didn’t. Because I know you were quite early on with your flying training so it wasn’t until later that they used —
JS: Stirlings were still going.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But nobody wanted to fly in the bloody things. They couldn’t get above about fifteen thousand feet. I mean we could at least get the old Halifax up to about eighteen. The Lancs were up around twenty thousand but of course at the end of the day the Halifax was faster and could climb better than the Lancaster. They were beginning to put Bristol engines in to the Lancasters, some of them.
DB: So I, one of the gentlemen who I visited who used to live near me he was, he was a Halifax pilot and he was saying that he was involved with the Halifax 3 when it was being tested and he said it was a really good plane.
JS: Yeah.
DB: The Halifax 3. Even in comparison to the Halifax 1. So [pause]
JS: The difference was phenomenal we started off and found that we’d got Hercules engines instead of the Merlins and within about it couldn’t have been much more than about another two months at the outside they were going. We’d got the Centaura engines.
DB: Right.
JS: Which was even better. As I said to get one up to maybe twenty five thousand feet was quite something.
DB: That’s stunning that is. Very unusual. So the, I presume the Liberator you didn’t like that quite as much as the Halifax then?
JS: No. No. They were very comfortable. They were almost palatial on the flight deck with carpet and God knows what else. But they could only do a hundred and thirty seven.
DB: Right. Mind you they were a different role weren’t they than the, than the Halifax?
JS: We were going up with a load. Latterly we could have gone out oh I should think probably twenty five knots better than we used to with the old Merlin engine.
JS2: You didn’t tell Dee where your escape hatch was on your plane.
DB: Oh, what? The Halifax one.
JS2: And how you had to get out.
DB: Oh yes. You must. You must tell me about that.
JS: What was that, Joy?
JS2: I said you didn’t tell her how, where your escape hatch was on the Halifax.
JS: Oh, I see. No.
JS2: And how you could have got out.
JS: You’ve been on a Halifax, have you?
DB: No.
JS: You haven’t been in the one at York?
DB: Not yet. I’ve been up. I’ve been up to Elvington because one of the squadrons that I have sort of adopted is 466 squadron and they were Halifaxes. So last year.
JS: But not in 4 Group.
DB: No. No. They were--
JS: Were in 6.
DB: They were in 6 Group.
JS: The Canadians?
DB: No. No. They were Australian.
JS: Were they?
DB: So I went up to, to Elvington because I’d never seen a Halifax but I’d like to go inside her just to see the difference.
JS: I put a little money in as most people or a lot of people did. And I asked, I was wanting to go up. Well, we were going that way and eventually after a lot of hoo hah because there was some bloody woman there whose husband had done quite a bit of work on the Halifax as a volunteer and she thought she owned it and she would decide who went in and who didn’t go in but eventually I got agreement which she tried to frustrate even at the last minute. And I took, we had our neighbours next door this way who were great pals he was a jet pilot and a friend just up the road and the six of us went over the Halifax. It’s rather strange. Everything looks a little bit toy. You know you go to an aerodrome and all the buildings look smaller than they did. Just imagination. So Joy’s been all over the Halifax.
DB: I’ve been, I’ve been inside the, I’ve been inside the BBMF Lancaster.
JS: Yes.
DB: I’ve also been inside Just Jane. The one at East Kirkby. And when I went over to New Zealand to visit some friends I actually inside the one at the Museum of Technology and Transport there as well. So —
JS: What have they got there? What planes?
DB: Theirs is a Lancaster as well.
JS: A Lanc. Yeah.
DB: Yeah. They’ve got a Lancaster.
JS: Yeah.
DB: But I’d love to fly in the BBMF Lancaster but it’s not going to happen. I might have to wait ‘til Just Jane. [pause] I know, I know the Lancaster‘s a different aircraft but it must have been nice when the Canadian Lancaster came over.
JS: Yes. The Canadians have got a Halifax too.
DB: I know they have. I know they have but unfortunately it’s just static isn’t it? They’re just like, just like, well, and although I think doesn’t Friday the 13th have working engines or, or am I dreaming?
JS: I don’t know.
DB: I’ve got a funny feeling her engines —
JS: You know how the one came about in York?
DB: Yes.
JS: A chap touring Scotland on a croft. He saw the central section being used as a chicken run.
DB: I’ve actually got a book about it.
JS: Have you?
DB: Yeah. When I went up there I bought. I bought the book. The book about how she came about which is why I’d like to go inside her because I’d like to compare the two. But so, but yeah it’s because in some ways they’re similar. In other ways they’re very different. So, but yes it was a bit of a labour of love. I think you can, I think you can just pay to go in her now.
JS: Can you?
DB: Yeah. But if you’re a veteran I think you get in free of charge. If you’re the family of a veteran you pay a little bit. But if you’re not connected to a veteran.
JS: [unclear] Yeah.
DB: Then you pay a lot more but you also have to arrange it before you go up so —
JS: But the Halifaxes they tended to have a flight deck whereas the Halifax the wireless operator’s down the step. Literally under the feet of the pilot. And then there was a navigation cabin. Or not a cabin.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But a piece. And then the bomb aimer was in the nose.
DB: Right. Okay.
JS: But the way out was under the navigator’s feet but that was alright in a sense. What you had to do was to lift the seat and clip it back.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And push the table up and clip it back.
DB: Yeah.
JS: So that you could get at the hatch.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But of course —
DB: That would have —
JS: What happened was, they put a radar set up there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And a radar set up there. And another piece over the top here that we used.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And the table couldn’t be moved. So you had to crawl under the table and get this bloody great thing up and the aircraft might be upside down.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Trying to get out.
DB: Or going like this.
JS: Yeah.
DB: In which case the pressure is going to be —
JS2: [unclear]
JS: Yeah.
DB: Yeah. Yeah. And your, and your flight suit as well which wasn't exactly thin. It needed to keep you warm.
JS: Of course you had a Mae West and a harness on as well.
DB: Yeah. Not an easy, not an easy task at all. I got asked recently because the sole VC that was on our squadron he did wing walking and he was supposed to have gone out through this hatch and I got asked by somebody to find out whether it would be even possible in a flight suit et cetera et cetera. So, we knew roughly what height he was and all that sort of thing so I wrote to the people who, who’d got the Wellington at Brooklands and they said, ‘Oh yeah, it would be just about possible for him to get out with —' you know because they said he’d got his Mae West and his parachute on when he, when he did this wing walk and they said, ‘Yeah. He'd just about be able to squeeze through but it would be difficult.’ So —
JS: I could mention here that one day, we always got these jobs. I always thought, I'm quite sure we got a lot of these mine laying jobs because of my dexterity on the H2S set and virtually instructing on it. I don’t know whether my career would work that one out but we're all alive so it doesn’t matter.
DB: No. I'm glad you were all alive and you were all —
JS: One day the squadron commander grabbed us all. He said, ‘Got a job for you.’ And somebody had persuaded Bomber Command to give a trial to the American flak suits.
DB: Right.
JS: Have you ever seen them in them?
DB: I probably have.
JS: And they sort of lifted up at the bottom —
DB: Right.
JS: So you can sit down in the things. But we tried out. So the idea was that you had your ordinary flying clobber.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Then you put on this flak suit.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Then you put on a Mae West and then you put on a parachute harness as well.
DB: Oh my God, I would imagine.
JS: It’s impossible.
DB: Yeah, I should, I was going to say it sounds impossible.
JS: And I had the job of writing a report on it.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And at one of the big squadron meetings in the big meeting room there they were talking away there and someone said, ‘Could I ask you a question, sir?’ The CO said, ‘Yes.’ He said, ‘What happened about those flak suits? Didn't we carry out a trial and you got a report on it?’ ‘Report?’ He said, ‘It’s more like a bloody article for Punch.’ [laughs]
DB: Very, I like that. I like that. You'll have to tell them about that one. Oh dear.
JS2: You didn’t tell Dee how you met up with your crew. I mean not to start with. At the end.
DB: You did mention. He did mention that one of, one of the air gunners contacted him.
JS2: Oh, you did.
JS: Yeah. I dealt with that.
DB: It was while you were doing the sandwiches, Joy.
JS: Oh right.
DB: Yeah. Yeah. He mentioned that. Which is, I mean it is great that you managed to get together and at least you had some contact with your pilot as well because a lot of people they just bomb burst that was it. You never heard from them again so —
JS: The fault was in the system. We finished our tour of operations.
DB: Yeah.
JS: The Canadian crew finished the same night. We were the first two to finish in months so there was a big celebration.
DB: Yes, I can imagine.
JS: I can tell you how it finished. I was great friends with a warrant officer who worked with me. He lived out and he lived at the pub.
DB: Right.
JS: And so we took a big room that they had over the pub and we had a hell of a party. And it finished up with about four big hairy buggers grabbing hold of me, turning me upside down and said, ‘We’re taking you on your last flight.’ So zooming me around the room.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And suddenly somebody shouted out ‘flak flak flak’ and they brought bottles of beer shoved down the leg of my trousers and went wump wump wump. And Ethel the landlady said she could still remember me standing there and saying, ‘Ethel, can I come and pay tomorrow?’
DB: I think you ought to tell them that one. I like that story. I like that story. Hello Mr Squirrel.
JS: [unclear]
DB: Mr Squirrel.
JS: Oh, buggers. Yes
DB: Yeah [laughs] A pity it’s not a red one but —
JS: No. If it was a red one I wouldn't mind at all.
DB: No.
JS: Have I put in there anything about Sir Arthur Harris's speech?
DB: No, you haven't.
JS: We should because —
DB: Yes
JS: Posterity. It's on record.
DB: Yes, it is. Yes. Yes. Is that the, is that the one where he sat behind the desk?
JS: Park Lane Hotel.
DB: Oh.
JS: No.
DB: After. Post war.
JS: Yes.
DB: Post war one. No, you haven't mentioned that. I’m sure it probably is written down but it would be nice to hear your view on it, let's put it that way. Your reaction. That’s the word I’m looking for. Yeah
JS: Well, I think it’s something that's not repeated often enough.
DB: No.
JS: For people to realise exactly what it was all about. He summed it up very succinctly, I think.
DB: Yes.
JS: It was funny because he was, I was in shipping as I told you. And he was in shipping too.
DB: Oh right. Okay.
JS: He was one of the directors of the original, what’s, States Marine Corporation I think they called them.
DB: Oh right.
JS: Which eventually turned in to the national line for South Africa. South African Marine. Corporation.
DB: Right.
JS: And he’d been the director of it and I had a lot to do with SAF Marine people.
DB: Yes.
JS: Who had an office across the road from us in the city.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And great pals with a chap called Frank Smith who was their general manager.
DB: Right.
JS: And he used to come to me and say, ‘You wanna watch it. I’m having dinner with your old boss tonight.’ And they would go down and call on old Butch who lived down at Goring on Thames or somewhere down there.
DB: Bless him. Yes, he fought. Fought all the way for his, for his boys but unfortunately —
JS: It was a hell of a job he had to do.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Because when you think that at one period we were losing I would have thought perhaps on average seventy eighty aircraft a night. That must have played on his mind terribly.
DB: I'm sure it did. I'm sure it did. Because he, because he felt very strongly about you guys.
JS: Yeah.
DB: He felt very strongly but —
JS: But it didn't matter, I mean what part of it you were when people took off they all took the same chance.
DB: Oh, definitely. Definitely.
JS: Have you had enough dear?
DB: I’ve had plenty. Thank you. Shall I take these out to the kitchen for Joy. And there you go. I’ll pop these into the kitchen for you Joy.
JS2: Oh, thank you.
[pause]
JS2: I’ll have to show you as she goes out.
DB: I love the sign about the lovely old lady and the grumpy old man.
JS2: That’s my granddaughter did that. She came in with it one day.
DB: I think that’s brilliant. So [pause] it seems to still be playing. That’s not right.
[recording paused]
JS: Is it on? That thing on. Did I talk about Ellerman’s?
DB: Yes. You did.
JS: To you or to there?
DB: To there you. Yes, you did.
JS: Okay.
DB: Because you were talking about your family and you were talking about Ellerman’s then
JS: Yes. Yes.
DB: But perhaps you could talk about the incident you were telling me about when you finished your —
JS: Tour.
DB: Yeah.
JS: What else was it?
DB: That you were going to say about the next morning. You were sheepish, sheepishly talking to the —
JS: The night. That was the night.
DB: Yeah. Yes, because they had the two different types didn't they? They had the bomb —
[recording paused]
DB: Something interesting.
JS: Would it ever have finished?
DB: I don't know. I don’t know.
JS: I mean look what the Germans had up their sleeves. They had the V-1. They had the V-2.
DB: Oh yes. Mind you I suppose we were, I mean we were inventing our own things as well. I mean —
JS: Yes.
DB: It might have been they dropped an atom bomb on the Germans if —
JS: Yes.
DB: If it hadn't ceased before that.
JS: I mean, as it happened and I’m glad they did they dropped two on the Japanese and it demonstrated to the world what they could do rather than just write about it and people saying, ‘No. It won’t be like that at all.’
DB: No.
JS: It was like that.
DB: Yes. It was exactly like that.
JS: And because the Japanese would never have surrendered if their emperor hadn't taken the bull by the horns and said, ‘It stops.’
DB: One thing that’s, maybe you want to talk about is what happened, how did you celebrate VE Day? Were you at home or were you, where were you for VE Day?
JS: We were here. Oh, VE Day.
DB: Yes, the actual VE Day rather than, rather than the celebrations seventy years later.
JS: I don’t know to what extent it was over celebrated. I really don’t.
DB: Were you, were you still on the squadron at that point? No. You’d left at that point, hadn’t you?
JS: I was demobbed by then.
DB: Okay.
JS: Just been demobbed by that time.
DB: Right.
JS: I came out in midsummer and that was in —
DB: It was in August, wasn’t it?
JS: August. Yes.
DB: So, so you weren’t in London at that point. You didn’t go out to central London or anything.
JS: No. No. No.
DB: No.
JS2: You didn’t say anything about they wouldn’t let you have a medal until just recently.
DB: Oh.
JS2: And that Bomber Command wouldn’t be recognised.
DB: Oh, you mean about the Bomber Command clasp? I totally agree with you. Totally agree with you.
JS: I won't wear those campaign medals. They're the most disgusting thank you that anyone could, if you compare it with I'm lucky enough to have a DFC. But if you, how would you wear those against those bits of tin that the government.
DB: Yeah. One of my, one of my Warrant Officer friends, a guy called Jim Wright is still writing to the government and trying to get a proper medal so —
JS: We’ve got one.
DB: I know you’ve got the clasp but —
JS: No. I’ve got a Bomber Command medal.
DB: Oh right. Yeah.
JS: We’ve got our own.
DB: Yes. I know you created, created your own but he’s trying to get an official.
JS: Yes, I know.
DB: Government one.
JS: Yes, but that would be another piece of tin.
DB: Yeah. I don't think he'll succeed.
JS: No. No.
DB: I don’t think he’ll succeed,
JS: I'd rather not I'd rather not have it quite frankly. I won’t have mine made up in to a row.
DB: Yes.
JS: I've got the miniatures.
DB: Yes.
JS: But I won’t have them made up in to a row until such time as we can put the Bomber Command one in there.
DB: Yes.
JS: Next to the Aircrew Europe medal.
DB: Yeah. Sounds fair to me. Sounds very fair to me.
JS: Because they sound tinny when people walk along. Typical government response.
DB: Yes. Oh yeah. Definitely. It's all about these —
JS: They've got to do it so they do it in the cheapest possible fashion.
DB: Yeah. Yeah.
JS: So all the thanks people have got.
DB: Have you were you involved in D-Day because you, were you flying at that point?
JS: Yes.
DB: You were.
JS: Yes. But all we did and I say all we did was because it was just an extra doddle as it were we went over and we had a job of carpet bombing.
DB: Right
JS: Ahead of the British forces.
DB: Right. So have you.
JS: That went wrong with the, it was the Canadians who bombed their own troops.
DB: That’s right. Yes. I remember that.
JS: So fitted next to the navigator’s desk was a cut out switch and the bomb aimer couldn't drop anything until the navigator put that switch on.
DB: Right. Okay because have you, have you claimed your Legion d’honneur?
JS: [laughs] Are they lobbing them out are they?
DB: They're giving it to people who were involved in D-Day whether they be in the air, land or sea.
JS: Oh, I didn't know that.
DB: So I should claim it. If you were involved in any way you can put the claim form in for it.
JS: Yeah. How can you get a Legion d’honneur?
DB: Well, they’re basically, I think they’ve waited until there’s not that many of you. [JS laughter] But I don't think they realise just how many there are and it's taking some time. So but if you go onto the government website you can download the claim form and send it off so —
JS: Legion d'honneur.
DB: Yes. In fact, some of the —
JS: [humming La Marseillaise]
DB: Some of the, some of the Australian pilots had theirs given to them by the ambassador from France in Canberra the other, the other week.
JS: Oh really. Yeah.
DB: So, they’re doing it properly. They’re doing it properly.
JS: Yes. Well, we’ll give him a pennyworth if he comes up and does it up here.
DB: Why not?
JS: Yes.
DB: He’ll enjoy, he'll enjoy the countryside.
JS: Yes.
DB: The other thing is have you heard about Project Propeller?
JS: No. What’s that?
DB: Right. Project Propeller is a different, different charity and what they do is they arrange a day every year where they fly aircrew into a, a particular point and, and then they fly you back again. So for you they'd probably get you too, where is the nearest small airfield that a private pilot —
JS: Oh, the smallest? Is there one at Creake, Joy.
DB: Yes. I think there’s one.
JS: North Creake.
DB: Yeah. They'd get somebody to pick you up from, from there or from Norwich or wherever you, wherever you wanted to be picked up from and fly you to wherever the venue was and then fly you back.
JS: Do they fly wives as well?
DB: Yes. Yeah. Oh yes, definitely. Basically, it’s you and the person or carer depending on whether your carers —
JS: What does that do? I mean —
DB: Basically it —
JS: How does that benefit a charity?
DB: They, they raise the money for the charity to do this and it's to basically to honour you guys but if you like I'm quite happy to give your name to the guy who organises it who is a friend of mine.
JS: Yes.
DB: And I will get him to contact you and tell you and tell you all about it but I can also write down the website for you so that you can.
JS: Well, we're not great on websites and things.
DB: Okay.
JS: I won’t have anything, having dealt with all this —
DB: Yeah. Well, he’ll quite happily email you.
JS: Joy does a bit.
DB: Right. Okay. He will quite happily email you, Graham.
JS: Yes.
DB: Or ring you. Whichever.
JS: How are we supposed to get back to you by the way as a result of your e-mail?
DB: Oh.
JS: Because Joy looked at, looked at it and she doesn’t profess to be an expert.
DB: Right.
JS: By any manner or means and said, ‘I don’t know how to get back to her.’
DB: Oh, there’s a, there’s a little thing that says. Well, you click on something. It depends which, which one you use. But there’s something you click on that says, ‘Reply.’
JS: Oh [laughs] I didn’t —
DB: So, but basically, I wanted, I wanted — to contact you by e-mail to give you the chance to go and do exactly what you did do. Talk to Helen and just make sure I was exactly who I said I was.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So I was quite happy for you to do that actually. So that’s but do you, do you do you use it on a computer or do you do it on a tablet?
JS: Joy’s got a laptop.
DB: Oh, okay. So is it Outlook that you get your emails from?
JS: Don't be technical.
DB: Okay. Is it a separate software programme that you go in to or is it on the Internet that you go into it?
JS: On the Internet.
DB: On the Internet. Okay. Each of the, each of the programmes it is slightly different. But usually there's a little thing that says, “Reply,” and you just click on that. You can either reply to just one person if there is just one person or you can reply to all if there's more than one person. That sort of thing. So you just click reply, type your e-mail and then click send.
JS: We couldn't see anywhere and that's why I phoned and —
DB: Oh no, that’s fine.
JS: I left a message there to say.
DB: That’s fine.
JS: We're not that technical. We've never had to reply to these things.
DB: No. That's fine. It actually worked quite well that way anyway. So, let me see if, I don't know if I’ve brought my booklet from —
JS: Your colleague phoned me back.
DB: Oh, Helen. Yes.
JS: Oh, Dan.
DB: Oh, Dan.
JS: It was Dan, I think I spoke to.
DB: Oh, was it Dan that spoke?
JS: He phoned me.
DB: Oh yeah. Yeah. Well, Helen was the one, the one that emailed me but no, Dan’s lovely. Yes. Dan's lovely. Have you been invited to the unveiling of the Spire?
JS: Yes. I think they said something and I said if it involves a lot of walking and that sort of thing and it, I mean I had Joy and I had front row seats for the Memorial thing.
DB: Oh right.
JS: Which my son, old Charles there —
DB: Yes.
JS: Was attending because he was attending on the royal couple anyway.
DB: Right.
JS: And I said to him, ‘Where's the nearest toilet?’ And he said, ‘A long way away.’
DB: Yeah. The nearest, the nearest one was the RAF club but that’s that’s —
JS: Yes. That’s bloody miles away.
DB: Across the road. It is across the road but I’m sure, but they had, they actually had some temporary toilets there as well.
JS: Oh, did they? Well —
DB: Yeah. You would have loved it it was a fabulous day. An absolutely fabulous day. I was able because I’m a member of the Bomber Command Association.
JS: Yes.
DB: I got two tickets and I took the secretary of our 75 New Zealand Squadron Association. The secretary to it.
JS: Well, I phoned old Doug down at Hendon.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Because I used to live just up the road from there anyway.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And said, ‘Doug, you know from what I hear I don't think this is on for us. Thank you very much. Let someone else have them.’
DB: Oh, no. No. You would have been alright. You would have been alright but, but hey. Have you been down since?
JS: No.
DB: No. Oh it’s lovely. I go down as often as I can. And I’ve got friends who go down once month if possible as well. So –
JS: Yes.
DB: We have a little service every, every year on the anniversary and we had the third anniversary service this year. Then we go across the road to the RAF Club and have a chat to the veterans who turn up and that sort of thing.
JS: Yes.
DB: So there was a Polish gentleman there this year who was on 311 Squadron.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So he flew Wellingtons and Liberators.
JS: Yes.
DB: So, that, that was really interesting. So, but yes I’ll give you, if you’re happy for me to do it.
JS: Yes, thank you.
DB: I’ll give Graham your details.
JS: Just give me the option. Tell him that —
DB: No. No. That’s —
JS: Yes.
DB: No. He won’t. He won’t make the assumption.
JS: Yes.
DB: He’ll just say, you know this is what’s involved. If you're interested I'll put you on the list to be invited. And then you can say if you don’t feel up to it on the day because what they do is all the pilots are private pilots. They’re not military ones.
JS: No.
DB: They're all private pilots. They all, they pay for the privilege of taking you there to, with their own fuel and that sort of thing. The only thing that the Project does is pay for the landing fees. And last year we were at, well we were at this year sorry we were at Cosford so because I help him find people who aren’t already on his list he lets me go. So, but we flew from Cambridge to Swansea to go and pick up a veteran and his, and his brother and then flew from there to Cosford and then flew back to Swansea and then back.
JS: Yes.
DB: To Cambridge. But the pilots —
JS: What do they do when they've landed?
DB: They transport you in a minibus to where, the venue and then you chat to, chat to other people. They have, they have a buffet lunch, they have speeches and then when you when you’re all socialised out they, but they also take pictures of all of you and that sort of thing and, and then you come home.
JS: Yeah.
DB: So it’s, it’s a very social day. And you might catch up with people from 102 or from —
JS: Yes.
DB: Sorry. What was it? 53.
JS: 53.
DB: Yes. 53.
JS: I was only on 53 for a few months.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Because it was just playing out time to get —
DB: Yeah.
JS: Demobilised.
DB: But you might find that there are people from 102 or 53 and what he does do is he tries to get people who’ve been were on the same squadrons together so that they can talk about squadrons.
JS: I mean, you mustn't take this wrong at all but I’m not a great reunion person in that.
DB: Oh no. No.
JS: In the sense that Joy and I went to one at Pocklington.
DB: Right.
JS: And the first thing they want to do is have a march past.
DB: Oh no. They don't do that. No. They don't do that.
JS: That’s, that’s not up my street at all.
DB: No. Well, I think, I think a lot of the reunions nowadays don't bother with those sorts of things because —
JS: And also the other thing was —
DB: A lot of veterans can't do it.
JS: At the squadron reunion I think two thirds of the people there were not at aircrew.
DB: No. No.
JS2: They were ground crew weren't they?
JS: All wearing fancy blazers and with big badges and all that sort of thing.
DB: Right.
JS: I don’t mind.
DB: No.
JS: But —
DB: No, and the majority at Project Propeller are aircrew. There might be the odd ground crew member.
JS: The Aircrew Association closed, didn't it? I was a member of that.
DB: There’s a lot of the, some of the branches are still around because I know there’s one down in the Chilterns because a friend of mine is a member of, Tom Payne is a member of that one so there's the odd ones but a lot of them like you say have closed down because obviously there's just nobody to go to them now.
JS: I always laugh about my neighbour John who is a wonderful friend but he was, he did his national service learning to fly in Canada.
DB: Oh, right. Okay.
JS: Because the Korean War was buzzing around there.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And he was good company to talk to.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But I said to him, ‘There’s a difference you see’ I said, ‘Because when you went to Canada you were already a pilot officer.’
DB: Yeah.
JS: I said, ‘I wasn't. I was an aircraftsman second class.’ We travelled steerage. He travelled first class.
DB: Yes, I can —
JS: When I came back from Canada we were in a single cabin.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And there were, there must have been at least eight of us in it. In bunks —
DB: Yeah.
JS: Up the side of the wall. I know we were having, we were allowed one case.
DB: Yeah.
JS: They were stacked on the bath.
DB: Yeah.
JS: So when you had a bath you had to get a couple of blokes to come in and you slid in under the suitcases and they held the suitcases back in case the ship did a bit of that and you had to duck as the suitcases —
DB: Oh, I like that. Can you, can you talk about that for me? Yeah. Do talk about that one for me.
JS: Yeah.
[recording paused]
JS: That one. I pressed the wrong one I think.
DB: That’s alright. We’ve managed an hour and forty.
JS: Is that alright?
DB: Yes. Lovely. That’s absolutely brilliant. But I mean unless you, unless you can think of anything else that you want to talk about we’ll leave it at that. But —
JS: Well, do you want to lay your hands on that?
DB: I’ll have, I’ll have a look at it certainly but [pause] I’m sure I can probably pick up a copy from somewhere.
JS: Well, they have it at the library, sorry, in the museum at Elvington I’m sure.
DB: I’m sure. I tend, I’ve got about three different websites that I get books from. And —
JS: So are you permanently attached to Lincoln University?
DB: No. I’m, I’m just a volunteer for them.
JS: Are you? Yes.
DB: I’m just a volunteer for them. Dan is employed by them.
JS: Yes.
DB: And Helen is employed by them but I’m just, I’m just someone who has volunteered to help out. Sometimes I go along to air shows to help with.
JS: Yes.
DB: With veterans at those because sometimes some of them go for signing sessions.
JS: Yeah. Excuse me. May I please just have a look?
DB: Please do.
JS: I don’t know whether it was here was it? That was a different, a different one. Yes. The first bit of course is 102 were not there
DB: Yeah
JS: They moved. As I said the squadron were lodgers.
DB: Mary [Collingham]
JS: Yes. Well, when we had our reunion after the war I was one of the organisers.
DB: Yes
JS: With a pal of mine and one of our big guests we had there was Leonard Cheshire.
DB: Oh wonderful
JS: Leonard got his first gong as pilot officer on 102.
DB: Did he?
JS: Yeah.
DB: Yes. Before he went back.
JS: Yes.
DB: Way before he went to 617, wasn’t it?
JS: Yes.
DB: But you said it was about May 1942. But yes. Such a shame when the crews were killed. 405 Squadron were there as well.
JS: That’s right. Yes.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Pocklington’s being demolished bit by bit.
DB: Yes.
JS: To make way for a trading estate and that sort of thing.
DB: Yes. Unfortunately, it’s happening with a, it’s happening with a lot of them, a lot of RAF stations at the moment. Spilsby there’s not much left of.
JS: Well, of course our big one is Coltishall.
DB: Yes.
JS: And they’re still working out.
DB: What they want to do with it.
JS: Yeah.
DB: Yeah.
JS: We get announcements and you think well that’s it then.
DB: Yeah.
JS: What was the latest with Coltishall, Joy?
JS2: I can’t remember. A housing estate wasn’t it?
DB: I know at one point they were talking about doing a, doing a solar panel —
JS: Yes.
DB: Farm or something.
JS: That’s another one. Yeah.
DB: Solar farm.
JS: We’ve got one of those building.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Up the road or going in up the road.
DB: Yeah. “Mine laying.”
JS2: Then there was going to be a prison and they said it was too near all the people
DB: Yeah. I think it’s the people in Coltishall complaining I think. But I thought they had actually opened an open prison there or something
JS2: I think they have done something to it now. Part of it anyway
DB: “Corporal O’Reilly fell off her bike in Pocklington.” Oh.
JS: [laughs] It wasn’t Peggy O’Neil who had a bike with one wheel
DB: Oh really. “Corporal [unclear] which is in SSQ with a subarachnoid haemorrhage in spite of —” Oh dear. Bless him. But this is the one with [unclear] in it [laughs] I like that. Yeah. I like that. With an old —
JS: That was the old Halifax with the oath on it.
DB: Yeah. Yes, a very famous poem. “Lie in the Dark and Listen.” Was, was you mentioned about Patrick Moore. Was he was he at [pause] was he at —
JS: I don’t know where he was.
DB: You don’t know where he was.
JS: No.
DB: Okay. Because there was somebody else who died recently who was in the air force. He wasn’t aircrew though, I think. He was ground crew, I think. The man who played Arthur Daly.
JS2: Oh, George Cole.
DB: George Cole. Yeah. He was, he was air force as well.
JS: There’s a piece in there about the station was visited by the father of the Royal Air Force Lord Trenchard.
DB: Oh, yes.
JS: Well. it’s funny when they say that but I was I’d been on a long trip the night before and I’d sort of just got up and we’d landed well after dawn.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And had a bath and changed and was sitting in the mess all on my own.
DB: Yes.
JS: In front of the fire and something tapped me on the shoulder. And I looked around there was this bloke you couldn’t see for the rings around his hand. I leapt up immediately.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And it was old Trenchard. I received Lord Trenchard. They didn’t mention that. And he said could I organise him a cup of tea.
DB: Oh bless.
JS: Which I went outside and did.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But hurriedly got on the phone to the CO to say, ‘I’ve got news for you mate.’ [laughs]
DB: You’ve got a visitor [laughs]
JS: Yeah.
DB: I think he liked just turning up announced, unannounced.
JS: Yeah.
DB: Didn’t he?
JS: Yeah.
DB: Because I think that’s the way, the way he found about things. The way things were.
JS: Well, he was Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police wasn’t he before he got involved.
DB: Yeah. So he was like, he liked creeping up on oh probably taken to Coltishall. That’s a connection. Munchen Gladbach. My father was at RAF Bruggen and we used to go shopping in Munchen Gladbach.
JS: Yes.
DB: It’s a very modern city nowadays but [pause] Oh, I see. Yeah. The DFC came later while he was on the squadron. They put it on there.
JS: Who was that?
DB: You put Wing Commander SJ Marchbank DFC.
JS: Oh yes. Old Marchbank. Yeah.
DB: And you put, you’ve put, ‘Came later.’ They’ve grounded —
JS: You haven’t met him have you?
DB: No. No. No.
JS: He was a bugger.
DB: Was he [laughs]
JS: Yeah. To our great pleasure he was all mouth, rah-rah-rah.
DB: Was he? Oh, right.
JS: And he swung on take-off and broke the aeroplane up.
DB: Oops.
JS: He was lucky because they had a full load on.
DB: Really? Oh goodness.
JS: Yeah. it kept him quiet for a bit though.
DB: Yeah [pause] Castle. Yes.
JS: I was watching it. We’d only, hadn’t arrived on the squadron all that long.
DB: You, you mentioned about, oh God, not Hamburg, not Homberg [pause] began with a D.
JS: Duisburg.
DB: Not Duisburg. There’s another one.
JS: Dusseldorf.
DB: No. You said there was a lot of aircraft knocked down on that particular one.
JS: No. At Nuremberg there was lots.
DB: Nuremberg. Was it Nuremberg? No. I don’t think it was Nuremberg. It might have been Nuremberg. But we lost five aircraft that night.
JS: Did you?
DB: On 75 Squadron.
JS: Yeah.
DB: Yeah, that was, no seven aircraft.
JS: [unclear]
DB: We lost seven aircraft that night. Yeah. Kiel.
JS: Yes. That was the big one.
DB: And Magdeburg]. Yeah. [Magdeburg]
JS: Three. Four. Five. If you turn over —
DB: Yeah.
JS: They caught a packet the next night.
DB: Yeah. That was true.
JS: Yeah. The other way wasn’t it? [pause] There.
DB: Yeah. Not good. Not good.
JS: Two nights.
DB: Magdeburg. Yeah. Berlin. Pilot officer Kularatne.
JS: Kularatne. Yes.
DB: That was the Ceylonese gentleman.
JS: Yes. Yes.
DB: Oh right.
JS: He’d been in touch with my son.
DB: Control tower. “Post operations drink usually laced with rum.” I bet you needed that didn’t you? Just to, just to help to warm you up.
JS: We had a, we had a padre, crafty bugger.
DB: Oh go on.
JS: Used to dish out the rum.
DB: Yeah.
JS: But he made sure that umpteen of the blokes didn’t want it so all those went into his kitty [laughs] What’s that one there?
DB: Group Captain RH Russell DFC took over as station commander.
JS: Yes [pause]
And of course a lot of people in the war depended entirely on when they were born. I mean I had —
DB: Oh, here we go —
JS: In my class at school who were dead before I went in because they happened to be nearly a year older than me. They were at the other end of the —
DB: Yeah. End of the school year.
JS: Entry. Yeah.
DB: Lord Trenchard, the father of the Royal Air Force.
JS: Yes.
DB: Visited the station.
JS: Where I got his afternoon tea for him.
DB: Yeah. Met him in the mess. How about that?
JS: Well I didn’t actually. He met me in the mess.
DB: Yes. He came and tapped you on the shoulder.
JS: Yeah.
DB: I like that story. I like that story. Fort Leopold Military Camp. Kattegat in Norway. There are so many names here that I recognise.
JS: We went to the cemetery at Barmby Moor. Barmby Moor is just on the other end of Pocklington aerodrome.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And strangely enough the padre, or the priest was a lady.
DB: Oh right.
JS: And —
DB: Yeah, I always call them padres.
JS: Yes.
DB: Don’t worry.
JS: Was a lady and when I saw her name I thought I know that name and sure enough she was the daughter of one of our captains. Oh, what on earth was the name I’m thinking of? I think it would have been, sometimes I remember something and then immediately after if I’ve stopped I’ve forgotten.
DB: Yeah. No. No. I understand.
JS: He had a brother in the company as well.
DB: Yes.
JS: His brother was a senior in London.
DB: Right.
JS: And he was the captain who told me the story about the ball bearing run to Sweden because he, he was one of the captains on one of those trips.
DB: Oh right, okay.
JS: On the ball bearing run. Yes.
DB: Oh wow. It must have been a fairly unusual name then.
JS: This was a good old Yorkshire name they mentioned. I can’t think of it.
DB: [unclear]
JS2: I think they have a lot of RAF burials there.
JS: What?
DB: Oh.
JS2: The church.
DB: Yeah. Almost certainly.
JS2: Wasn’t it, wasn’t it the RAF church or something? We went and had a look at the burials.
JS: That’s right. Yes.
DB: Yeah.
JS: I was, I was going to say that. Of course, there are, oh [pause] I think there were probably twenty graves there of RAF personnel.
DB: Oh right. Okay.
JS: And I don’t think there’s one more than twenty three years of age.
DB: Well, the average age was only twenty one, wasn’t it?
JS: Yeah.
DB: I mean, I mean you were a lot younger when you started but most of the, and certainly most at the start of the war they tended to be older but as as the time went on they tended to be twenty one or twenty two.
JS: I mean in those terms I was becoming an old man. I was twenty three when I left the air force.
DB: Yeah. Yes. “We wrote our kit off.” Oh.
JS: Kite.
DB: Kite off. Sorry.
JS: Yeah.
DB: “Tyres shot away.” Oh, that’s the one you were talking to me about.
JS: Yeah, where we —
DB: Yeah. Opposition moderate. Some heavy flak.
JS: Yeah.
DB: Five aircraft damaged.
JS: It was like walking on a bloody black carpet, [ping pong ping!] I can remember the bomb aimer turning around to me and he’d got a dent in the microphone of his face mask where a bit of shrapnel had hit him.
DB: Oh gosh.
JS: It whizzed past us and whooo.
JS2: Have you told the one about was it the rear gunner that jumped out?
JS: No.
DB: No.
JS2: When you were in the potato field.
JS2: No.
JS2: He didn’t realise he was twenty feet up in the air.
DB: Oh right. He jumped out early did he?
JS2: He jumped out and he thought he was still on the ground.
JS: Oh yes [laughs] No that wasn’t our crew. No. It was, yes a different one. There was an aircraft that went nose up in a ditch at Pocklington.
DB: Right. Right.
JS: And the rear gunner opened the doors and threw himself out. Didn’t realise it was at that angle.
DB: Ouch.
JS: Thought he was never going to land and it was our own rear gunner who, I told you his nerves went.
DB: Yes.
JS: And towards the end he used to race out the aeroplane [breath] bang.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Bang.
DB: Yeah.
JS: Well when we got these radial engines because they hung round instead of in a line the ones underneath if you weren’t careful you might get a residual fuel left in the bottom there. When they started it could damage the piston.
DB: Yeah. Yeah. Okay.
JS: Next to there. So the idea was you had to run them up and then cut it off.
DB: Yeah.
JS: So he was out there when the aircraft went ‘woooo’. When we went out he was in a hedge like this looking at the cricket ground of Pocklington Grammar School [laughs].
DB: Oh, wonderful.
JS: Poor old Dougie.
DB: I really ought, I really ought to record those. Those two incidents. I really ought to record those two. Those are the sort of little, little snippets. Another South African.
JS: Oh yes and the other. Another lovely one. Our sergeants. Our sergeants had their own site. Living quarters.
DB: Yeah.
JS: They were all in Nissen huts there with these big stoves.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And they shared it with another crew. The end of this one, and they’d lit the fire there. They used to light the fire when they got back in the evening so it warmed up nicely.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And all hell bloody well broke loose. When we went outside there was the stars shooting out of the chimney. A member of the other crew had been stealing Very cartridges from the aircraft.
DB: Oh no.
JS: There was going to be an inspection. He had them in a bag and he dropped them in the fire.
DB: Yeah.
JS: And forgot he’d dropped them in the fire. Nearly blew the bloody fire apart. You know one of these big iron —
DB: Big pot belly. Oh my God. Oh, we ought to.
[recording paused]
DB: Do you want to just quickly re —
JS: Oh, no. That’s the eight South Africans.
DB: The rear gunner, et cetera and the —
JS: Is it on? [pause] The change of engines on the Halifax from the inline Merlins to the radials did cause one amusing incident where our rear gunner had leapt out of the aircraft to light his customary after operational, soul receiving, nerve placating fag when the engines on the starboard side where he was standing were being run up as part of the run up run down drill. When we came out the aircraft we were not at all surprised to see him spread eagled in the bushes at the back of the aeroplane. Another little incident was a member of a crew who’d been helping himself to Very cartridges and had them in a bag which he’d hidden in a fire and to his great surprise he forgot to tell anybody and they lit the fire and they had the biggest firework display down on the sergeant’s side that I think they’d ever seen. And I’ve been asked to mention that the aircraft, the Halifax went nose down in a ditch with the tail standing feet up into the air when the rear gunner wondered what on earth had happened and decided the best way out was to open his doors and threw himself out little realising the height that he was falling from and he got a very rude awakening when it took him about three days to land.
[recording paused]
DB: That was wonderful.
JS2: Yes. It was very like him because if he’d been in the bed it would have, it was our own shell from that gun because when we took it in to the police station they said it was an English shell so obviously it had come, because we always used to go out in the road and pick up the shrapnel from all over the place. I can remember doing that with my brother.
DB: And all his toys were were —
JS2: Yes. He had little soldiers along his bedroom shelves and they were all on the floor and dust everywhere. Yeah.
DB: And then a land mine not long after.
JS2: Yes. But that, you could, you know, when they come down you’d hear the noise coming. Well all the bombs, a sort of whistling noise and then this complete silence. And that’s the end and you know it’s landed. And the doodlebugs were the same, you know when they came along because if you watched them and they suddenly stopped you knew they were going to come down.
DB: Oh dear. Thank you. Okay. I did wonder whether you’d had experiences because you were sort of just about the right age.
JS: Come here, you.
DB: Yes boss!
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with James Sampson
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Denise Boneham
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-08-21
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
ASampsonJ150821
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
01:59:45 audio recording
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
James Sampson volunteered for the RAF and trained as a navigator and became a specialist on H2S. He survived three write offs of his aircraft including once when the wheels had been shot away. His bomb aimer had a very near miss when shrapnel hit the microphone on his face mask denting it. On one occasion their aircraft ended up nose down in a ditch and the gunner couldn’t understand what had happened and so he threw himself out of his turret only to find himself on a very long fall to the ground. James also made tea for Lord Trenchard when he made a visit to the aerodrome. There are some technical issues with the recording.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Germany
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Duisburg
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Carolyn Emery
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
102 Squadron
53 squadron
aircrew
B-24
bombing
crash
H2S
Halifax
mine laying
navigator
perception of bombing war
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Pocklington
searchlight
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/704/11895/LBeethamMJ[Ser -DoB]v2.pdf
e48b84bb1ab4b0ad11464c42bd3238d3
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Beetham, Michael
Sir Michael Beetham
M Beetham
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. The collection concerns Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Michael Beetham GCB, CBE, DFC, AFC, DL (1923 - 2015) and contains his five flying log books. He flew a tour of operations as a pilot with 50 Squadron. After the war he flew on the goodwill tour of the United States with 35 Squadron. He remained in the RAF and rose in rank until his retirement in the 1980s.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Sir Michael Beetham and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-09
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Beetham, MJ
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Michael James Beetham’s pilots flying log book. Two
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book for Michael James Beetham, covering the period from 5 December 1945 to 18 July 1952. Detailing his post war squadron duties, staff duties, flying training and instructor duties and flew the victory day fly past and good will tour of the United States. He was stationed at RAF Graveley, RAF Hemswell, RAF Finningley, RAF Eastleigh, RAF Middleton St. George, RAF Bassingbourn and RAF Andover. Aircraft flown were, Lancaster, Oxford, Lincoln, C-47, B-17, Expiditor, Anson, Wellington, Devon, Valetta, Meteor, Canberra and Proctor. Flying duties were with 35 Squadron, 82 Squadron, Headquarters Bomber Command and Staff College.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LBeethamMJ19230517v2
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
Ghana
Great Britain
Kenya
Nigeria
South Africa
Tanzania
United States
Zambia
California--Mather Air Force Base
Colorado--Colorado Springs
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Durham (County)
England--Hampshire
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Suffolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
Ghana--Accra
Ghana--Takoradi
Kenya--Nairobi
Michigan
New York (State)
New York (State)--Mitchel Field
Newfoundland and Labrador--Gander
Ohio
Ontario--Ottawa
Ontario--Trenton
South Africa--Pretoria
Tanzania--Dar es Salaam
Tanzania--Lindi
Tanzania--Mbeya
Tanzania--Tabora
Texas
Washington (D.C.)
Zambia--Ndola
California
Colorado
Ontario
Newfoundland and Labrador
35 Squadron
82 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
B-17
C-47
Goodwill tour of the United States (1946)
Lancaster
Lincoln
Meteor
Oxford
pilot
Proctor
RAF Andover
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Eastleigh
RAF Finningley
RAF Graveley
RAF Hemswell
RAF Middleton St George
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1244/16288/LWoodsEH751788v1.1.pdf
3374514a43262ab7d566dd81994a1651
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Woods, Eric Horace
E H Woods
Timber Woods
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Eric Horace Woods (b. 1921, 751788, 162541 Royal Air Force) and consists of his log book and a mess bill. He flew as a navigator with 511 Squadron in Transport Command and then operations with 106, 144 and 61 Squadrons in Bomber Command. He flew with British Overseas Airways Corporation before becoming an aircrew examiner after the war.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Geoffrey Woods and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-10-17
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Woods, EH
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Eric Horace Woods’ observer’s and air gunner’s flying log book
Description
An account of the resource
Observer’s and air gunner’s flying log book for Eric Horace Woods, navigator, covering the period from 28 November 1939 to 10 July 1946. Detailing his flying training, operations flown, instructor duties, operations with transport command and post war flying. He was stationed at RAF Stapleford Abotts, RAF Hamble, RAF Penrhos, RAF Upwood, RAF West Raynham, RAF Finningley, RAF Hemswell, RAF Watton, RAF North Luffenham, RAF Woolfox, RAF Cranage, RAF Wigtown, RAF Lyneham and RAF Bassingbourn. Aircraft flown in were, Anson, Westland Wessex, Avro Avalon, Envoy, Battle, Harrow, Demon, Blenheim, Hart, Hampden, Manchester, B-24, Oxford, Albemarle, C-47, York and Lancaster. He flew one operation with 106 Squadron, 4 night operations with 144 Squadron and 25 night operations with 61 Squadron. His pilots on operations were Squadron Leader Parker, Sergeant King, Sergeant Curtis, Sergeant Whitmore, Sergeant Sleight, Sergeant Baker, Flying Officer Casement, Squadron Leader Pascall, Flying Officer Craig, Flying Officer McKee, Flying Officer Hebbourn and Flight Sergeant Scott. Targets were, Bordeaux, Essen, Magdeburg, Hannover, Kiel, Borkum, Mannheim, Hamburg, Bremen, Cologne, St Nazaire, Dusseldorf, Weser River, Karlsruhe, Krefeld and Frankfurt. He also flew 101 wartime transport operations with 511 Squadron. The log book is annotated with a brief biography, and cuttings about aircraft and operations.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Cara Walmsley
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LWoodsEH751788v1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Germany
Great Britain
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cheshire
England--Essex
England--Hampshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Norfolk
England--Rutland
England--Yorkshire
England--Wiltshire
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Weser River
Scotland--Dumfries and Galloway
Wales--Gwynedd
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
Germany--Borkum
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1940-09-09
1940-09-10
1940-10-09
1940-10-15
1940-10-16
1940-10-18
1940-10-24
1940-10-25
1940-10-26
1941-05-05
1941-05-06
1941-05-08
1941-05-09
1941-05-10
1941-05-11
1941-05-12
1941-05-17
1941-05-18
1941-05-25
1941-05-26
1941-05-27
1941-05-28
1941-06-02
1941-06-03
1941-06-11
1941-06-12
1941-06-14
1941-06-15
1941-06-17
1941-06-18
1941-06-20
1941-06-21
1941-07-03
1941-07-04
1941-07-05
1941-07-06
1941-07-14
1941-07-15
1941-07-19
1941-07-20
1941-07-24
1941-07-25
1941-07-30
1941-07-31
1941-08-06
1941-08-07
1941-08-08
1941-08-09
1941-08-11
1941-08-12
1941-08-13
1941-08-25
1941-08-26
1941-08-27
1941-08-28
1941-08-29
1941-08-30
106 Squadron
144 Squadron
17 OTU
61 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
Air Observers School
aircrew
Albemarle
Anson
B-24
Battle
Blenheim
bombing
Bombing and Gunnery School
C-47
crash
Hampden
Harrow
Ju 88
Lancaster
Manchester
mine laying
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Cranage
RAF Finningley
RAF Hemswell
RAF Lyneham
RAF North Luffenham
RAF Penrhos
RAF Upwood
RAF Watton
RAF West Raynham
RAF Wigtown
RAF Woolfox Lodge
training
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1242/16313/LAllenJH179996v1.1.pdf
c9fc81707756633917b840cabd806864
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Allen, Jim
J H Allen
Description
An account of the resource
18 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant James Henry Allen DFC (b. 1923, 179996 Royal Air Force). He flew a tour of operations as a pilot with 578 Squadron. The collection consists of a number of memoirs, photographs and a diary. It includes descriptions of military life and operations and his post-war life and work.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Steve Allen and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-05-12
2019-02-05
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Allen, JH
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Jim Allen’s Royal Canadian Air Force pilots flying log book
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
Royal Canadian Air Force pilots flying log book for J H Allen, covering the period from 2 December 1942 to 14 January 1947. Detailing his flying training, operations flown, instructor duties and post war squadron duties. He was stationed at, RCAF Station Assiniboia, RCAF Station Estevan, RAF Hullavington, RAF Banff, RAF Harwell, RAF Rufforth, RAF Burn, RAF Lossiemouth, RAF Merryfield, RAF Stoney Cross, RAF Leaconfield, RAF Stradishall, RAF Homsley South, RAF Bassingbourn and RAF Wratting Common. Aircraft flown in were, Tiger Moth, Anson II, Oxford, Wellington III and X, Halifax II, III and V, Stirling V and York C1. He flew a total of 40 operations with 578 squadron. 19 night and 21 daylight. Targets were, Malines, Berneville, Morsalines, Trouville, Orleans, Boulogne, Bourg Leopold, Trappes, Massey Palaise, Amiens, Douai, St. Martin L’Hortier, Siracourt, Oisemont, Rosingal, Mimoyecques, Wizernes. Villers Bocage, Les Catelliers, Thiverny, Kiel, Stuttgart, Foret de Nieppe, L’Isle Adam, Caen, Foret de Mormal, Somain, Russelsheim, Tirlemont, Venlo, Le Havre, Gelsenkirchen, Munster and Calais. His pilot for his first 'second dickie' operation was Sergeant Harrison.
Creator
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Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Contributor
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Mike Connock
Format
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One booklet
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
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LAllenJH179996v1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
Canada
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Belgium--Leopoldsburg
Belgium--Mechelen
Belgium--Rossignol
Belgium--Tienen
Canada--Assiniboia, District of
England--Berkshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Hampshire
England--Somerset
England--Suffolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
France--Amiens
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
France--Caen
France--Calais
France--Douai
France--Le Havre
France--L'Isle-Adam
France--Nieppe Forest
France--Nord (Department)
France--Normandy
France--Oisemont (Canton)
France--Oise
France--Orléans
France--Paris
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Somain
France--Trouville-sur-Mer
France--Yvelines
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Rüsselsheim
Germany--Stuttgart
Netherlands--Venlo
Saskatchewan--Estevan
Scotland--Banff
Scotland--Lossiemouth
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
France--Villers-Bocage (Calvados)
France--Neufchâtel-en-Bray
Saskatchewan
Canada
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
France--Les Catelliers
France--Morsalines
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1944-05-01
1944-05-02
1944-05-08
1944-05-09
1944-05-10
1944-05-11
1944-05-12
1944-05-22
1944-05-23
1944-05-24
1944-05-25
1944-05-27
1944-05-28
1944-05-31
1944-06-01
1944-06-11
1944-06-12
1944-06-13
1944-06-14
1944-06-15
1944-06-17
1944-06-18
1944-06-22
1944-06-23
1944-06-24
1944-06-25
1944-06-27
1944-06-28
1944-06-30
1944-07-01
1944-07-04
1944-07-09
1944-07-12
1944-07-23
1944-07-24
1944-07-25
1944-07-28
1944-07-29
1944-08-03
1944-08-05
1944-08-06
1944-08-07
1944-08-08
1944-08-09
1944-08-11
1944-08-12
1944-08-13
1944-08-15
1944-08-16
1944-08-17
1944-09-03
1944-09-09
1944-09-10
1944-09-11
1944-09-12
1944-09-17
1944-09-24
1945-06-30
1945-07-04
15 OTU
1663 HCU
20 OTU
578 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
bombing
bombing of Luftwaffe night-fighter airfields (15 August 1944)
bombing of the Pas de Calais V-1 sites (24/25 June 1944)
Cook’s tour
Flying Training School
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Banff
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Burn
RAF Harwell
RAF Hullavington
RAF Leconfield
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Paignton
RAF Rufforth
RAF Stoney Cross
RAF Stradishall
RAF Wratting Common
RCAF Estevan
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
Tiger Moth
training
V-1
V-3
V-weapon
Wellington
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/743/20634/BCleggPVWilsonDv1.1.pdf
52fe453884f3b8aa4fb3ff000cb8677a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Clegg, Peter Vernon
P V Clegg
Description
An account of the resource
Eight items and five sub-collections. Main collection contains a log of Pathfinder operations from RAF Wyton 1943 -1944, histories of the Avro repair facility at Bracebridge Heath, and Langar, a biography of Squadron Leader David James Baikie Wilson, biography of Squadron Leader Lighton Verdon-Roe, a book - Test Pilots of A.V. Roe & Co Ltd - S.A. 'Bill' Thorn, and two volumes of book - Roy Chadwick - no finer aircraft designer, Sub-collections contain a total of 29 items concerning the Aldborough Dairy and Cafe as well as biographical material, including log books for Alan Gibson, Peter Isaacson, Alistair Lang and Charles Martin. <br /><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1772">Aldborough Dairy and Cafe</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1768">Gibson, Alan</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1769">Isaacson, Peter</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1770">Lang, Alastair</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1771">Martin, Charles</a><br /><br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Peter Clegg and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-02
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
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Clegg, PV
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] A bomber pilot’s journey through WWII. [/underlined] Page 1.
(A Veteran from 617 Squadron – David Wilson).
Sqd. Ldr. David James Baikie Wilson, DSO, DFC and Bar – Head of Aerodynamic Development and Testing, and Test-Pilot, A.V. Roe & Co Ltd.
April 8th 1946 to August 23rd 1947 (killed in Tudor crash)
David James Baikie Wilson was born on January 16th 1917, in Highgate, London, to his Scottish mother and Norfolk-born father. His mother came from a tough sea-faring family called Baikie living in [inserted] Brisbane Street, [/inserted] Greenock, on the River Clyde, to the west of Glasgow. From her, David inherited a great resolution of character, and from his father he acquired a brilliant academic brain – a combination that does not often lead to its owner becoming a test-pilot.
David was the only child in the family, and his mother inserted the name of her Sea-Captain father, James Baikie, between “David” and “Wilson” to perpetuate the family name – as is the wont of many Scottish families.
David’s father and mother had moved down to North London prior to the birth, and remained in that area while he grew up. Attending the local Kingsbury County School, and later Berkbeck College in Fetter Lane, David soon proved himself extremely bright, academically, obtaining [inserted] School Certificate [/inserted] “Distinctions” in Pure Maths, General Physics and Chemistry and “Credits” in Advanced Maths, French, History and English. He left the College with Higher School Certificate in Pure and Applied Maths, Chemistry and Physics, and then went straight to London University, to try to gain a degree in some of these subjects. True to his academic form, he gained a B.Sc. (General) in Chemistry, Physics and Pure Maths in July 1937 and then studied Chemistry for a further two years, gaining a “First” in the “Special” B.Sc. category and [inserted] starting work at the British Oxygen Company in November 1938. [/inserted]
Combining a taste for something more exciting, with his studying, David was already very keen
[Page break]
3/2
on aircraft and flying, and as the inevitable War loomed up he joined the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve (RAFVR), and was called up for deferred service in January 1940, training at Hendon (his nearest RAF base) for six months until June that year. Then he was called up properly to attend initial RAF training and selection, and spent the next two months being drilled and graded – as David had hoped – for pilot training in the Commonwealth. September 1940 saw him arrive in Southern Rhodesia at No 25 Elementary Flying Training School at Salisbury, and his pilot training started on September 18th with his first flight there in a Tiger Moth flown by his instructor, Flt/Sgt Marsden.
[Underlined] Pilot Training in Rhodesia [/underlined]
Flying in the [inserted] dry, [/inserted] sunny climate of Southern Rhodesia, David was able to [inserted] thoroughly [/inserted] enjoy his airborne experiences, and progress rapidly with the training routine. He went solo after 18 hrs 25 mins dual flying – indicative not so much of his own ability but the steady and rigorously adhered to procedures followed at the EFTS there, to cut down the early accident rate. It was not a spectacular time in which to go solo – rather the opposite – but David learned slowly but surely, and once learned, he never forgot, becoming a very sure-handed pilot.
Training progressed rapidly – David making three or four flights a day at times, and a lot of attention was paid to aerobatics, spinning, forced landing practice, and even night flying on the Tiger Moth! Some instrument flying was also done on the Tiger, and – a curious exercise – “abandoning an aircraft in flight”. His qualifying Cross-Country on October 31st was from Salisbury to Gatooma and back, and then he was posted out the same day, categorised a “Average” as a pilot, and recommended for “twin-engined types” in furthur training. He had gained his “Wings” on the Tiger Moth.
After a weeks’ leave, David now attended the No 21 S.F.T.S. at [inserted] Kumalo, [/inserted] Bulawayo, Southern Rhodesia, to start training on Oxford aircraft. He had by now clocked up 65 hrs flying, 28 hrs 30 min of which
[Page break]
3/3
was solo. His first flight in an Oxford was now made on November 11th 1940, with his [inserted] new [/inserted] instructor, Flying Officer Wood. David actually failed his first solo test on the Oxford, but managed all right on the second occasion, on November 14th, and from there on never looked back. As the training progressed, he passed a “Height-Test”, “Navigation”, “Navigator Test”, “Cross-Country”, “Low-flying”, “triangular cross-country on instruments”, “Formation”, “Progress”, and finally his passing-out test by the Chief Flying Instructor, Sqd. Ldr Hendrikz. With a total of 115 hrs now (55 hr 55 mins solo), David passed the first stage of the twin-engined Oxford Course on Dec 18th 1940, again classified as “Average” as a pilot.
The second stage started on December 30th now concentrating on tactical flying – making reconnaissance sorties, low-level bombing practice, and a lot of instrument and cross-country flying. There were night landings by floodlight, and many more low-level bombing runs at 1,000 ft, during which David’s mean bomb-dropping error crept down from 126 yds to 88 yds, and finally to 42 yds on average. Then they indulged in a bit of aerial gunnery from the Oxford, firing 90 rounds off from the Oxford’s single target gun. Near the end of the course, there were “ZZ” approaches, photography – “stereo pairs”, and “line-overlap”, and finally, formation flying. David passed out of No 21 S.F.T.S on February 12th 1941, with an “Average” grading again, having now flown 163 hrs 35 mins, of which 99 hrs 15 mins was solo. He was now posted to No 11 Operational Training Unit on Wellington bombers, at Bassingbourn, back in England.
[Underlined] Operations with 214 Squadron [/underlined]
At Bassingbourne [sic] David rapidly completed a further 75 hrs 40 mins flying on Wellington IO and IA aircraft, starting on May 21st 1941. He solo-ed on the Wellington after some 21 hrs 10 mins “dual” and “2nd pilot” flying, and then started to do a lot of night flying ranging from “circuits and bumps” to cross-country flying, mock bombing raids, air-to-air firing [inserted] and [/inserted] a North Sea Sweep. [Deleted] and [/deleted] Cross-country instrument flying was invariably from Bassingbourne [sic] to Wittering and Andover
[Page break]
4.
to Upper Heyford and return. At the end of all this, on June 26th 1941, David passed out of the O.T.U. and was posted to No 214 [inserted] (Federated Malay States) [/inserted] Squadron based at RAF Stradishall in Suffolk. This Squadron – as its name implies – was supported by the Malay Federation in WWII and several aircraft were paid for by funds raised in the States, including a Wellington II, W5442* coded BU-V, which David Wilson flew the first evening he arrived at the Squadron. After having an “Air Test” with one of the Flight Commanders, Sqd. Ldr. Field, in the morning of July 9th, David flew as Second Pilot to the Squadron Leader that same evening on his first operation – carrying a 4,000 lb “dookie” to drop on Osnabruk.** The raid was carried out by a total of 57 Wellingtons from No 3 Group, and, as discovered after the War, not many bombs fell on the target area. Two Wellingtons were lost that night, but David returned safely.
Only five days later, David was off on his next operation – this time to Bremen, to drop three 500 lb bombs and clusters of incendiaries. After this, raids followed in quick succession every two or three nights; Cologne, Rotterdam, Mannheim, Hamburg, Hanover, Duisburg, Keil, etc. Each time David was flying as Second Pilot to the Squadron Leader, or to a Sgt. Foxlee. On the night of July 25/26th, after raiding Hamburg with Sgt. Foxlee, they had to divert to Debden on the return, as their own base had poor weather and low visibility. The same thing happened on August 12th, on their return from Hanover, but this time David and Sqd. Ldr. Field diverted to Newmarket instead.
At this time, these attacks were mostly being directed at German ports, shipping and naval bases, or railway yards, but [inserted] their [/inserted] accuracy – or [inserted] the [/inserted] damage [inserted] caused [/inserted] - at this stage in the war, in hindsight, did not reach any great measure of success.
David recorded his longest operational flight so far on September 7th 1941, when he acted as Second pilot again for a Pilot Officer Barnard, and they bombed Berlin, taking 8 hrs 15 mins for the entire flight. Two sorties later – and on his own 6th operation – David was
* This Wellington was named “Sri Guroh” and had already completed some 25 successful raids before David flew it.
** See appendix 4 for details.
[Page break]
3/5
the Captain of the aircraft for the first time, and this particular trip was a short one across the Channel to Le Havre. He flew a Wellington IC, N2850, but there was ten tenths cloud over the target, and they eventually dropped their bombs in the sea before returning to base
After this, David was the Captain on all his future operations, which included an attack on Hamburg on the night of September 29th carrying a 4,000 lb High Capacity blast bomb – and flying W5442, the old aircraft of the O.C. “B” flight, Sqd Ldr Field.
David was now allocated Wellington IC X9979 for his own crew to use, and this “Wimpy” stayed with him from October 2nd 1941 right up to the end of David’s tour of operations on January 31st 1942.
Many of his raids in October over the German sea ports were plagued by solid cloud cover, or bad weather, and they often bombed “blind” over the top of the targets. On November 7th David set out for Berlin again with six 500 lb bombs, but there was extremely bad cloud and icing over Germany, and Berlin, and so he unloaded his bombs over Osnabruck instead, on the return journey. This was one of Bomber Command’s biggest raids on Berlin to date, and there would be no more large raids on the capital until January 1943. The weather was equally bad over England on the return, and David [inserted] had to [/inserted] divert to another airfield.
Back [inserted] on [/inserted] September 1st, David and others in 214 Squadron began a series of low-level bombing practices, flying over their ranges at [inserted] Foxcote at [/inserted] 200 ft and dropping six bombs at a time. By December 9th they were dropping up to eight practice bombs a time, and on the 11th David, again flying at only 200 ft, dropped a massive 4,000 lb bomb from this low altitude! The end of the year 1941 arrived with David bombing Brest on December 23rd and 27th, trying to hit the Port area.
In January 1942, David was sent to Brest on four more occasions, having to divert to land at Harwell on one of these raids because of bad weather on the return. On January 21st he flew to Bremen to drop a 4,000 lb HC bomb, and then on the 28th came the final “Op” of the Tour – a raid on Münster. The cloud cover was again so bad that they returned home without dropping the bombload, and diverted to Waterbeach to land. David had safely completed his first Operational Tour, having flown
[Page break]
3/6
289 hrs 50 mins in all with 214 Squadron, of which 199 hrs 35 mins were on actual operations. * He was now graded as “Above Average” as a pilot by 214’s C.O., Sqd. Ldr. Carr.
[Underlined] Becoming a Flying Instructor [/underlined]
For his traditional rest from operations, David was now posted to No1 Flying Instructors School at Church Lawford, near Rugby. He arrived there on February 24th 1942,[inserted] to start on the No22 War Course, and [/inserted] to be trained to teach others how to fly multi-engined aircraft. This course here lasted to April 21st, and during this time he was given intensive instruction on Oxford I’s and II’s, and (surprisingly enough) on some single-engined pre-war Avro Tutors!
David underwent day and night instruction, his mentor being a Flt. Lt. Mann, and sessions of any of the half dozen Avro Tutors were interspersed with the twin-engined flights on Oxford trainers. Between March 27th and April 2nd, he was sent down to Upavon to pass the 24th “Beam Approach” Course with flying honours (being graded “Above Average” again, and “Fit to Instruct”). This Course, in fact, was run as part of the Central Flying Scool [sic] of the RAF.
Then it was back to Church Lawford on the Oxford and Tutor, until he was finally passed out as a qualified instructor on April 20th 1942, rated as “Average” on both single and twin-engined aircraft.
[Inserted] David had been commissioned as a Pilot Officer out in Rhodesia, and on completion of this Course was made up to a Flying Officer, preparatory to commencing duties as an Instructor at RAF College Cranwell. [/inserted]
He arrived at Cranwell on May 1st [inserted] as a “B” Category Flying Instructor [/inserted] to start to instruct pupils at the College [inserted] Flying Training School [/inserted] how to fly the Oxford. Most of these were ordinary Leading Aircraftsmen (LAC’s) or Corporals, or Lieutenants (presumably the College Officer Cadets). By late June, a few Miles Master II single-engined trainers had been acquired, and David instructed on these as well. And at the
* See appendix 4 for details.
[Page break]
3/7
end of July he was posted to No 7 Flying Instructors School at Upavon. This time to train others how to become “Instructors”!
David was becoming restless to be back on operations again, but had to put up with the daily round of flying Oxfords, Magisters and Masters again at Upavon, until the beginning of November 1942, when the CFI, Wing Cmdr GFR Donaldson, graded him out as “Above Average” again on David’s posting to 196 Squadron – a brand new night-bomber squadron formed on November 7th at Driffield in Yorkshire.
[Underlined] Second Tour, with 196 Squadron [/underlined]
David reported to 196 Squadron at Driffield on November 7th, and then was immediately sent off on a new Course called the “Captains of Aircraft” at Cranage [inserted] near Holmes Chapel [/inserted] in South Cheshire. It was the 12th intake at this Course, and David was lectured there on Navigation, and had to undertake six long cross-country exercises on Ansons, flown by a Course pilot, with David and two others on board having to act as Navigators in turn. The Course was an adjunct of the RAF’s Central Navigation School, and was intended to refine operational Captain’s navigating skills, for posting them to Coastal Command, or to Bomber stations where new 4-engined bombers with only one pilot were the norm.
While he was posted to Cheshire over the Christmas period of 1942/43 [inserted] Dec 21st to January 3rd [/inserted], David had some chance to attend some local functions and festivities, as he did not have time to return to his parents in Hendon. It was while the Station was giving a Dance for local people that David met a Cheshire girl called Elsie, who worked at a nearby I.C.I. Works connected with the Salt industry Elsie was a very personable girl, with a number of boyfriends, and David was a shy and quiet person, but the two became immediate friends, and kept up correspondence with each other when David re-joined 196 Squadron (now moved to Leconfield) after Christmas. One other course David had to attend for a few days, was at Westcott in Buckinghamshire, at No 1 Engine Control Demonstration Unit (E.C.D.U), to learn “Engine Handling”
[Page break]
3/8
and “Petrol Consumption” there on the Wellington Mk III. (No flying was involved). Finally, on January 14th 1943, he took to the air at Leconfield on Wellington X HE179, to try some “circuits and bumps” on this new Mark of the bomber He then had a few “working-up” flights to get his [inserted] brand- [/inserted] new crew shaken down, trying out air-to-air firing with his gunners, and practice bombing using [inserted] new [/inserted] infra-red photography to record the results.
David’s first sortie with 196 Squadron [inserted] and the Squadron’s second operation [/inserted] was on the night of February 7th 1943, when he dropped seven 500 lb bombs on a new type of “area-bombing” raid on French ports with German U-Boat pens. This directive had been issued by the War Cabinet on January 14th, and because the new U-boat pens of solid concrete were too thick to penetrate, the towns themselves were obliterated instead (the French civilians had been warned to evacuate them).
Some 323 aircraft bombed Lorient that night, with the [inserted] new [/inserted] Pathfinders marking the target well. Seven aircraft were lost, two being Wellingtons. David’s crew obtained a good infra-red photograph of the bomb bursts.
It was back again to Lorient on February 13th, this time forming part of a raid of 466 aircraft in all, and dropping over 1,000 tons of bombs for the first time on a Bomber Command target. The French town of Lorient received more devastation, but the U-boat pens survived. Then it was Cologne on the 14th, and Emden on the 17th, but the latter raid was abandoned by David’s aircraft, due to heavy cloud cover. Just six Wellingtons had been sent to Emden that night to test the infra-red bomb sights, but only three found the target, and bombed it. David brought all his bomb load back.
Before February finished, David had been to Cologne again on the 26th (where two of his three 500 lb bombs “hung up” and he had to return to base with them) and St Nazaire on the 28th (again dropping a “mix” of 500 lb bombs and incendiaries).
In March David went to Hamburg, Essen (twice) Duisberg and Bochum, dropping a 4,000 lb “Cookie” on one of the Essen raids. This was the beginning of the “Battle of the Ruhr”, devised now by Bomber Command to paralyse German Industry. There was an increasing flow of new four-engined bombers to the Squadrons, and a build-up of the Pathfinder
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Force and their new marking techniques using Mosquitos guided by Oboe equipment, * and Lancasters etc, to continue illuminating the markers dropped by the “Mossies”. All this now led to ever more accurate raids on the German Ruhr industrial zone.
The first Essen raid, on March 5th, was well marked by the Pathfinder Force (PFF), and David’s Wellington was in the second of three waves over the target – the Krupps industrial complex. This night marked Bomber Command’s 100,000th sortie of the war, and it is likely that David’s 4,000 lb bomb was one of the many that helped destroy an area of the Krupps works that night. A week later he was over the same target again, with the more usual mixture of 500 lb bombs (many fuzed for a long delay action) and incendiaries. Even more of Krupps was reduced to rubble that night.
David normally flew with a crew of four in his aircraft, and his regular crew consisted of Pilot Officer Parkin, Sgt. Wakeley, Flt. Sgt, Allen and Sgt. Lund. Occasionally he would take another Sgt. Pilot on board to give him operational experience for the odd flight or two (before he went off to captain his own aircraft). His O.C. in “A” Flight was Sqd Ldr Ian R.C. Mack, and the 196 Squadron C.O. at this time was Wing Cmdr. A.E. Duguid.
David only had one “Op” in April, to Kiel on the 4th, but May was another intensive month, with successful visits to Dortmund, Duisburg, Bochum and Düsseldorf. Most of the aircraft sent on these raids were now four-engines types, and of 110 Wellingtons sent to Dortmund, six were lost. The equivalent numbers [inserted] of Wellingtons [/inserted] sent to the other three points were: Duisburg 112 (10); Bochum 104 (6); and Düsseldorf 142 (6). The last two raids did not have the desired effects as the Germans were now starting decoy markers and fires outside the cities, to lure the PFF and bombing aircraft away. But the Duisburg raid had been highly successful, the Port and August Thyssen steel factories being badly hit.
[Inserted] On May15th [inserted] 1943 [/inserted] the [deleted] Press [/deleted] [inserted] London Gazette [/inserted] released the news that David had been awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross (D.F.C.), for (as the citation stated) “completing numerous [inserted] operational [/inserted] missions, flying on many occasions to targets such as Cologne, Berlin, Kiel and Hamburg, where the fiercest opposition is encountered.
“Since the beginning of his operational career, his single aim has been to press home his attacks as accurately and efficiently as possible, and in this he has had many successes. His courage, skill and determination against all hazards have been an inspiration to the Squadron”. [/inserted]
In June 1943, David flew sorties to Düsseldorf, Krefeld and Wuppertal, using his normal Wellington X HE901 on most flights (he
* “Oboe” was a system in which radio beams were sent out from English points, to cross over a specific target, and the RAF aircraft fitted with the receiving equipment could tell exactly when to drop their markers.
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had previously used HE170 and MS488 for long spells at a time, all with 196 Squadron’s code letters ZO-. Two of his crew had been commissioned by now – Wakeley and Allen had been made Pilot Officers. (David himself was now a Flight Lieutenant). The Düsseldorf raid was very successful, and that on Krefeld equally so, devastating the city centres. Just prior to the Krefeld raid on June 21st, some “Monica” sets had been fitted to some of 196 Squadron’s Wellingtons, HE901 being one of them. David and his crew had conducted air teats with the new equipment on June 16th and 17th, and aerial exercises with fighters, to try out the operational aspects. “Monica” was the code name given to equipment which, installed in RAF bombers, would give warning of the approach of German night-fighters from the rear. This radar equipment gave out its own transmissions however, and later in the war, when a German Ju88 night fighter landed by mistake at Woodbridge on July 15th 1944, it was discovered that its “Flensburg” radar transmission detector set could “home in” from 50 miles away onto an RAF aircraft using Monica. The increasing losses of Allied bombers was being blamed on Monica, [inserted] “H2S” radar, [/inserted] and “I.F.F.” (Identification Friend or Foe) signals emanating from their aircraft, and instructions were immediately given to remove all “Monica” sets, use “H2S” only sparingly, and switch off “IFF” altogether over German territory.
The raid on Wuppertal on June 24th 1943, in which David dropped an entire load of incendiaries, devastated the Elberfeld half of the town (the other half had already been hit). Some 94% of the town was destroyed that night. 630 aircraft having taken part, and 6 Wellingtons out of 101 being lost (together with 28 Lancasters, Halifaxes or Stirlings).
David now made the last operational sortie of his second Tour, to Cologne again on July 3rd 1943. He was flying Wellington X HE901 [deleted] again [/deleted], with a new member of crew, Flt. Lt. Reaks (who had replaced P/O Allen), and the PFF successfully marked the industrial area of the town, on the East bank of the Rhine. Again, David’s load consisted entirely of incendiaries, and they bombed the target accurately, but on returning to England after a flight lasting 5 hrs 5 mins, had to divert to Westcott, Bucks, because
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of ground fog and bad weather in the North. This raid was noted for something else – the beginning of mass night-time attacks by German night-fighters over the target area – something not met before by the RAF – where the Luftwaffe units attacked from above, using the mass of fires, target indicators (T.I.’s) and searchlights below as illumination for the bombers. On this raid 30 aircraft were lost out of 653 despatched – 12 being claimed by the Luftwaffe night fighters. In hindsight David was lucky to finish his second Tour at this point, as the RAF raids over Germany began to meet increasing fighter opposition, leading to many losses.
[Underlined] Lancaster Conversion Unit [/underlined]
Again classed as “Above Average” [inserted] in his recent capacity as “Master Bomber” of 196 Squadron [/inserted], David Wilson was now posted to a Lancaster Conversion Unit [inserted] No 1660 [/inserted] at RAF Swinderby, to convert to flying four-engined heavy bombers. The reason he had had a shorter Tour than usual at 196 Squadron was because the Squadron was moving [inserted] its [/inserted] base down South now, and re-equipping with Stirling bombers. David neither liked the Stirling, nor the future role of the Squadron, which was to be on glider-tug and troop dropping rôles, and so he had quickly opted to go for a Lancaster Squadron posting. [Inserted] He had in fact volunteered to join 617 Squadron (now known as the “Dambusters”), who were now looking for a few more seasoned and “Above Average” graded pilots to replace the eight lost on their famous raid of May 16th/17th. Only men of exceptional experience and calibre would be accepted, and all crews had to show a very high accuracy in their bombing experience. David’s name had gone forward for consideration by 617’s C.O., Wing Cmdr. Guy Penrose Gibson, V.C., DSO and Bar, DFC and Bar, who was still in charge but about to be posted onto a temporary staff duty as a rest (against his wishes!). Provided he converted to the Lancaster successfully, he would be accepted. [/inserted]
And so Flt. Lt. David Wilson started at Swinderby on July 23rd 1943, learning the tricks of flying the mighty Lancaster – an aircraft that would endear itself to him for life. The Course was not long, only five weeks, and finished on August 30th, when David had completed his multi-engine transition to the big Avro machine designed by Roy Chadwick. The Lancasters at the Unit were old Mk I’s from early production runs by A.V. Roe & Co Ltd at Manchester, or Metropolitan-Vickers at Trafford Park, and some had originally been laid down as Manchesters, and converted on the line.
David firstly had “circuits and landings” practice, then “stalling”, “three and two engine flying”, “fire action”, and “three-engine overshoots”. Then came cross-country exercises, “time and distance”
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runs (practicing dropping bombs after a measured run-in from a known geographical position) “corkscrewing” (to avoid fighters at night), and “fighter affiliation” (practice in being “attacked” by fighters). Finally David made some bombing runs, dropping four bombs on Wainfleet Sands, then eight (getting a mean error of only 71 yds from the target), and finally a round-the-UK cross-country flight at night, from Swinderby to Ely, Bicester, Sidmouth, St. Tudwells (where he dropped two bombs, and hit the target), Strangford [inserted] Lough [/inserted] in N. Ireland Dumfries in Scotland, Aberdeen and back home! A large part of the return trip was flown on three-engines, the whole flight taking 5 hrs 35 mins – just like a typical raid over Germany.
Wing Cmdr. Everitt, the CO. of 1660 Conversion Unit, passed David out [inserted] on August 30th [/inserted] as “Above Average” once again on the Lancaster this time, and David thus had his posting to 617 Squadron confirmed, and joined them the same day at Coningsby, Lincolnshire. [Deleted] – the already famous 617 Squadron, otherwise known now as the “Dambusters”. [/deleted]
[Underlined] Joining the “Dambusters” [/underlined]
David Wilson joined 617 Squadron on August 30th 1944, the date the Squadron moved its home from Scampton to Coningsby, in Lincolnshire. Since its famous [inserted] first [/inserted] raid on the German dams on the night of May 16th/17th 1944, [sic] the Squadron had [inserted] briefly [/inserted] returned to [deleted] a rest period, and started [/deleted] operations again on July 15, raiding power stations in Northern Italy and landing [inserted] at Blida [/inserted] in N. Africa afterwards. [Inserted] (Blida was a [inserted] captured [/inserted] Allied aerodrome a few miles south-west of Algiers, in French North Africa). The Squadron’s third raid had been on the Italian port of Leghorn on the way back from Blida. And its fourth was a mass leaflet raid on major Italian cities on July 29th 1943, after which the aircraft landed at Blida again. (This time they positioned back to England without raiding any target on the way). [/inserted] With its high level of training [deleted] and accuracy [/deleted] in bomb dropping especially [inserted] at low level [/inserted] the Squadron was now being used for attacks on major targets which required a great deal of accuracy in placing their weapons. These targets by definition, were also likely to be very heavily defended.
David was airborne on September 1st, the second day after he arrived at Coningsby, and was promptly sent off on a low-level cross country. (With the “Dambusters”, low level meant just that – at 200 to 330 ft altitude! [inserted] all the way [/inserted]). Wing Cmdr Guy Gibson, VC, DSO and Bar, DFC and Bar had just relinquished command of the Squadron [inserted] on August 3rd) [/inserted] to [inserted] Acting [/inserted] Wing Cmdr George Holden, DSO, DFC [inserted] and Bar? [/inserted]
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and there were 10 [deleted] complete [/deleted] Lancaster [deleted] crews [/deleted] pilots left at that moment out of the original 21 that had been in the Squadron when the raid on the Dams was mounted. * Apart from David, the other new pilots [inserted] ① who had joined 617 since the Dams raid were F.O. W.H. Kellaway, DSO; at the end of June; P.O. B. [deleted] (“Bunny”) [/deleted] W. Clayton, DFC, CGM, early in July; [deleted] and [/deleted] Flt. Lt. R.A. Allsebrook, DSO, DFC, also early in July; [inserted] and Flt. Lt. E.E.G. [inserted] (“Ted”) [/inserted] Youseman, DFC, at the end of July. (Ted came from David Wilson’s old 214 Squadron). [/inserted]. All these pilots – like David – brought their old crews along with them as well, and so all eight men in each Lancaster found themselves suddenly flying with the famous “Dambusters”. One of these new arrivals had also crashed on August 5th on Ashley Walk Bombing Ranges, when it hit the slipstream of another Lancaster, but luckily the crew survived, but with the exception of one gunner did not fly with 617 again. [/inserted]
The [inserted] surviving [/inserted] Lancasters which had been used for the Dams raid were in the process of being returned to A.V. Roe & Co to have the special fittings removed and the enlarged (bulged) bomb doors put in their place. For the purpose of keeping the crews in training, however, other Lancasters had to be borrowed or drafted in, and the Lancaster which David flew on September 1st was one such – ED735 (KC-R) from 44 Squadron (where it had been called KM-K). This Lancaster had just [inserted] ② been fitted with new “deep-section bomb doors by Avros, to take the new 12,000 lb High Capacity Blast bombs, and was sent to the A&AEE at Boscombe Down this month, to measure the Position Errors. [/inserted]
The Dambusters had moved from a grass airfield at Scampton, to one with hard runways at Coningsby and were sharing the latter airfield now with other Lancaster Squadrons. [Deleted] No 619 [/deleted] (Another Lancaster Squadron that would henceforth [deleted] to [/deleted] work closely with 617 was No 619 [inserted] - based nearby at Woodhall Spa - [/inserted] ) David flew Lancaster EE144 (KC-S) on September 14th – this aircraft was normally used by Sqn Ldr. Holden.
David was [inserted] then [/inserted] engaged in intensive low-level cross-country flying for the first two weeks of September, working himself and his crew up to the required accuracy of bombing, air firing, and low-level navigating as befitted the high standards expected of the specialist squadron. Two of these flights were on aircraft that had originally been on the Dams raid – ED886 (AJ-O flown then by P.O. Bill Townsend) and ED921 (AJ-W of Flt. Lt. Les Munro). These had been altered back to carry normal bombs, and in common with 617’s other permanent Lancasters were now fitted with new radio altimeters which could be set to give the pilot warning of dropping below, say, 75 ft above the ground (where a “hiccuph” could mean flying into the deck”).
All this preparation was for 617’s next scheduled raid on one of the War’s earliest, and by now most heavily defended targets – the Dortmund-Ems Canal. It had been decided to try to breach this by moonlight, and at low level. The canal was of vital importance to the German War industry, as it joined the steel plants of the Ruhr
*(for Note see over →③
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[Underlined] footnote ③ FOOTNOTE [/underlined]
* The original [inserted] 21 [/inserted] pilots of 617 Squadron at the time of their first operation – the Dams raid – consisted of Wing Cmdr. Guy Gibson, VC, DSO and Bar, DFC and Bar; Flt. Lt. J.V. Hopgood, DFC; Flt. Lt. H.B. Martin, DSO and Bar, DFC and two Bars, AFC; Sqd Ldr. H.M. Young, DFC; Flt. Lt. W. Astell, DFC; Flt. Lt. D.J.H. Maltby, DSO, DFC; Sqd. Ldr. Henry Maudslay, DFC; P.O. L.G. Knight, DSO; Flt.Lt. D.J. Shannon, DSO and Bar, DFC and Bar; Sqd. Ldr. J.C. McCarthy, DSO, DFC; Sgt. [inserted] V.W. [/inserted] Byers; Flt Lt R.N.G. Barlow; P.O. Geoff Rice, DFC; Flt. Lt. J.L. Munro, DSO, DFC; F.O. W.C. Townsend, CGM, DFM; Flt Sgt. K.W. Brown, CGM; Flt. Sgt. Cyril [inserted] T [/inserted] Anderson; P.O. [inserted] Warner [/inserted] Ottley; P.O. [inserted] L.J. [/inserted] Burpee (all of whom had flown on the raid); and P.O. W. [inserted] G. [/inserted] Divall and Flt. Lt. Harold [inserted] S. [/inserted] Wilson (both of whom had not been included on the Dams raid).
The [inserted] eight [/inserted] killed on the raid were Hopgood, Young, Astell, Maudsley, Byers, Barlow, Ottley [inserted[ and [/inserted] Burpee; Guy Gibson, of course, had now been rested from “Ops”; Cyril Anderson had decided to return to his original Squadron, and Bill Townsend had been posted away to 1668 Conversion Unit. All this left just 10 of the original pilots.
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with the Baltic, enabling iron ore from Sweden to be barged to the steelworks, and finished parts (Eg of U-boats) to be sent North to the German ports.
It was lucky for David that he was still getting into training at that moment. On a cross-country on September 13th, he practiced low-level bombing from 300ft and 500 ft, and gained a mean error of 73 yds from the target centre; and on September 14th he dropped bombs on the ranges from 200, 300, [inserted] and [/inserted] 400 ft high, and got his average error down to 36 yds.
David was assigned to “B” Flight, under the leadership of Flt. Lt. J.L. (“Les”) Munro (a survivor of the Dams raid who had been hit by flak en route to the Sorpe Dam and had had to turn back because the radio/intercom had been destroyed). But due to his “working-up” period, he was not selected for the raid on the Dortmund-Ems Canal on September 14th/15th. This was meticulously planned – as usual – and eight of 617’s Lancasters would take part, dropping new 12,000 lb High Capacity thin-cased, bombs from low level (fuzed for an adequate delay). The crews selected were the new C.O., George Holden, Dave Maltby, Les Knight, Dave Shannon, Harold Wilson [inserted] (no relation to David) [/inserted], Athelsie Allsebrook, Geoff Rice and Bill Divall. All but Holden, and Allsebrook [deleted] and Divall [/deleted] were survivors of the original 617 Squadron, and they set off on the evening of the 14th, but en route to the target received news back from a “recce” Mosquito in front, that the weather was too bad over the target area for low-level bombing. Regretfully they turned for home, but as they did so at low level over the North Sea, Maltby’s Lancaster hit someone else’s slipstream, dipped a wing into the sea, cartwheeled – and that was that. Maltby and his crew all perished.
Back home at Coningsby, they re-planned the raid for the next evening, the 15th, and Mick [deleted] y [/deleted] Martin just back from leave, filled Maltby’s place. [Inserted] David Wilson flew two more cross-country flights on this day, using one of the original Dams raid Lancasters, ED886 (AJ-O) [deleted] glued back again [/deleted] They were his last practices, and he was not called up for the raid that night. [/inserted] As the [inserted] others [/inserted] flew low over darkened Holland, Holden, flying with [inserted] Guy Gibson’s old crew [/inserted] and leading the two flights, was hit by flak and he climbed to avoid a church steeple in a small town while the others behind swung low around the outside of the built-up area. Holden’s Lancaster, trailing flames, went down and his 12,000 lb bomb exploded with a blinding flash of light.
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It was his 30th birthday.
Over the target area, a ground mist obscured the markers they dropped, there was a lot of light flak about, and the escorting Mosquitos found it difficult to silence the flak, and the 617 pilots found it very difficult to see the canal. Allsebrook, who now acted as leader, dropped his bomb and helped to direct others onto the target, but then disappeared. He had been shot down leaving the area. Knight, flying low, hit some trees which damaged his two port engines, and asked Mick Martin’s permission to jettison the bomb. He tried desperately to get home, but after allowing his crew to bale out over Holland, was killed trying to crash land the Lancaster alone.
Rice tried in vain for an hour to find the target, was holed by flak, jettisoned his bomb and managed to return home to Coningsby. Harold Wilson was hit by flak too, and had to crash-land his Lancaster with the bomb on board. It went up soon after, killing all on board before they could escape. Divall was [inserted] also hit and crashed. [/inserted]
// Dave Shannon flew around for 70 minutes, before he managed to spot the Canal and drop his bomb. It hit the towpath and did not seem to breach the canal banks. And Mick Martin flew around for a long 90 minutes, repeatedly getting hit by flak, and finally dropping his bomb on his 13th run in. He was two hours overdue when he landed back at Coningsby, to find only Shannon and Rice there before him. There were just the three Lancasters back, out of the eight that had set off. And nothing to show for the losses.
Next day Mick Martin was made a Squadron Leader by the A.O.C. No 5 Group, Air Vice-Marshal the Honourable Ralph Cochrane, and temporarily given command of 617 Squadron. Martin immediately volunteered to go back to the Canal the next night, and said there were six of them left who could try it (Martin himself, Shannon, Rice, Les Munro, Joe McCarthy and Ken Brown). In addition to these Martin could now call on the newly posted Captains - David Wilson, Ted Youseman and Bunny Clayton.
Fortunately Sir Ralph insisted on the three latest survivors being rested for 617’s next raid, on the Antheor Viaduct near Cannes in the South of France, on September 16th. And because
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this operation followed on without a break, the three “new boys”, and [inserted] the three veterans, [/inserted] Munro, McCarthy and Brown [deleted] (all had taken part on the original Dams raid) [/deleted] were supported by six Lancasters from 619 Squadron as well, and all placed under 619’s C.O., Wing. Cmdr. Abercromby.
[Underlined] The Anthéor Viaduct [deleted] preparing for the Tirpitz [/deleted] [/underlined]
It was against this backdrop of tragedy that David Wilson now flew his first “Op” for 617 Squadron. The atmosphere couldn’t have been worse, but morale was still high. Other Squadrons were [inserted] now [/inserted] beginning to call 617 the “Suicide Squadron”, and there were [inserted] noticeably [/inserted] fewer requests from other pilots to transfer to it [deleted] now [/deleted]! However, the intensive training, and the work involved in the briefing to the raids, kept David’s mind off all that (and the fact that his namesake, Harold Wilson, had died the night before).
This was 617’s seventh operation (including the first abortive Dortmund-Ems sortie), and the target was difficult to find, not counting hard to bomb accurately when they reached it. The main railway link between Central and Southern France and Italy, ran along the coast from Fréjus/St. Raphael to Cannes, and a typical curving viaduct lifted it across a ravine at a point just east of Cap du Dramont, a few miles on the Cannes side of St. Raphael. This little place was called Anthéor, and was 617’s next headache.
David flew in [inserted] company with the other 617 veterans, [/inserted] his “B” Flight Commander, Flt. Lt. John Leslie Munro, DFC, [inserted] RNZAF [/inserted], Pilot Officer Kenneth Charles McCarthy, DSO, DFC, [inserted] RCAF [/inserted], Pilot Officer Kenneth William Brown, CGM, RCAF, and two other “new boys”, Flt. Lt. “Ted” Youseman DFC, and Pilot Officer “Bunny” Clayton, DFC, CGM. Although the target was on France’s South coast, they were expected to return to England on this raid – not land in N. Africa.
David took Lancaster JB 139 on this raid, (coded KC-X and recently transferred from 49 Squadron). His bomb load included one 4,000 lb “Blockbuster” and three 1,000 lb bombs, and his crew consisted of Flt Sgt Hurrel, F.O. Parkin, Flt. Sgt. Barrow, P.O. Allen, Sgt Lowe and Sgt Mortlock. When they found their target, they jockeyed for position down the
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ravine to the sea, and David [inserted] and the others [/inserted] released their bombs from 300 ft. [Inserted] The idea was to lob the bombs onto or between the arches of the bridge, but all seemed to go through the arches instead. [/inserted] The viaduct seem [sic] unscathed, however, - although it and the rail tracks were peppered with holes – and they flew back in the knowledge it would probably need further attempt.
After a flight of 10 hrs 20 mins, David Wilson put his Lanc down at Predannack in Cornwall, to refuel, before flying back to Coningsby later.
[Underlined] Preparing for another Dams raid [/underlined]
Mick Martin was firmly in charge of the Squadron now, interviewing new would-be 617 pilots, thinking about a method of them taking flares with them on future raids to mark the target and make it easier for all to bomb, and liaising with the A.O.C. 5 Group with regard to future targets for 617.
In fact Cochrane was scheming up another attack on a dam, this time the big installation at Modane in Northern Italy, which lay deep in the hills. But Cochrane duped even Mick Martin for a time – he pretended it was to be a raid on the German battleship Tirpitz in a Norwegian fjord, and this required flying over the hills, down the steep slope, across a short stretch of water and then over the ship (in reality, the dam in Italy)!
So Martin went looking for a suitable site to practice on, and found a hillside near Bangor in N. Wales, near the coast, where he could get 617 to try flying down the face of the slope to level out over the sea. He experimented with putting down his landing flaps, to 40° or so, but found although the Lanc would sink down the hillside better, he had to exceed the max speed with flaps down by some 60 mph, and thus risk [inserted] their [/inserted] collapse – with undoubted fatal results to aircraft and crew.
David flew in [inserted] Mick Martin’s [/inserted] Lancaster (EE150 [inserted] coded KC-Z [/inserted]) to the scene on September 18, with Dave Shannon, (one of the three Flight Commanders, with Munro and McCarthy) in the cockpit beside him, and the two of them took it in turns to try flying up and over the hills that Mick Martin had found. Next day David was up in the Midlands [inserted] in the same aircraft [/inserted], this time with his
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own Flight Commander, Les Munro, the two of them doing practice runs across the Derwent reservoir at very low level, and then they tried the hill near Bangor again, Les trying it out and handing over to David. It was all intensely demanding work, and the adrenalin flowed very freely!
Between September 19th and 23rd, the “dams” type training intensified, David flying dummy attacks over Derwent reservoir in ED735 (KC-R) [inserted] on the 19th, [/inserted], then on September 20th he used Guy Gibson’s old aircraft ED932 (AJ-G) of Dams raid fame to take up one of the special “Upkeep” weapons that they still held in store and he dropped this on a dummy low-level attack in the Wash. (Guy Gibson’s old aircraft, unlike the majority that had survived the Dams raid, had [inserted] not yet [/inserted] been converted to have the bulged bomb-doors, and the old cylindrical “Upkeep” canister was used on the original Barnes Wallis-designed release mechanism). Then, in the next three days came low-level cross-country formation flying, dropping bombs on the Wainfleet ranges. David dropped the first lot (of four bombs), getting a mean error of 64 yds, and on the second occasion dropped eight bombs from 800 ft high. Then came a night time cross country at low level on astro fixes only, and finally a trip to Castle Kennedy, and Turnberry in Ayrshire, carrying 14 [inserted] staff [/inserted] passengers in connection with these trials.
However, the very next day, September 24th, came a complete change of policy, and training. The reason was the development of a new, more accurate bomb-sight, and its ability to deliver two large new weapons that Dr Barnes Wallis had been developing recently – the 12,000 lb streamlined “Tallboy” bomb, and its big brother, the 22,000 lb “Grand Slam”. The Chief of Bomber Command, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Harris, had been agonising over the future rôle of 617 Squadron with Sir Ralph Cochrane, and had concluded that it should stay in the latter’s 5 Group, and now become a “Special Duties” Squadron. Cochrane, on his part, decided to press ahead with Wallis’ new weapons, and get 617 equipped as fast as possible with the new bob-sight, to start dropping these expensive weapons.
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[Underlined] The Stabilising Automatic Bomb-Sight. [/underlined]
This SABS sight had been developed at the RAE at Farnborough back in 1941 by a man called Richards, and used the gyro principle in its stabilising system. It had been held up in its development by the fact that although it was a great deal more accurate than its predecessors, it did require a very careful straight and level approach at high altitude, on the run in to the target. Consequently the likelihood of Bomber Command taking heavier casualties from flak and fighters because of this, had resulted in its being “shelved” for the time being. But now, the development of these special weapons merited another look at it. A certain Sqd. Ldr. Richardson was now despatched post haste from the RAE to 617 Squadron at Coningsby, to see the SABS fitted, and perfected, in their Lancasters.
From September 24th, therefore, everything changed in David’s training. No longer was it low-level dams-type exercises, but he flew in EE150 [inserted] (KC-Z) [/inserted] this day, with Joe McCarthy acting as Captain for some of the time, making [inserted] the first [/inserted] high level dummy runs with the new SABS fitted. The next day, David took Bunny Clayton up with him, and Sqd Ldr. Richardson (by now dubbed “Talking Bomb” by the Squadron, for his propensity to talk bomb-sights from the moment he woke, until the moment he went to sleep), to check out the SABS in EE150 again.
Sqd Ldr Richardson was busy fitting the new SABS into all the aircraft, and then checking the installation by flying with it. He also knew that it took two to be accurate – the pilot on the one hand (to fly at a given height, and airspeed, on the final run in), and the bomb aimer on the other (who had to feed the correct data into the sight, and advise the pilot when he strayed off the necessary heading/approach speed). With the Squadron C.O. (Mick Martin), Richardson then evolved a system of each pilot being checked out, by someone senior, and each bomb-aimer being paired with different pilots – cross-checking the results against each other.
Thus David [sic] third flight (on September 26th) was with Mick Martin (now elevated to Sqd. Ldr. status),
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and they did high level bombing (HLB) from 6,000 ft gaining an average bombing error of 60 yds (this altitude was not “high” in the view of most other squadrons – but where 617 was normally flying below tree-tops and between haystacks, 6,000 ft really was “high” to them!
Next day (the 27th) David had two training sorties – one taking up Ken Brown to show him the ropes, dropping bombs at Wainfleet from 10,000 ft this time, and recording a mean error of 61 yds; the next sortie being with Bunny Clayton and flying at 5,000 ft and 7,000 ft, recording an error of 50 yds. (It was getting better!)
Next day David took Geoff Rice up, and also made a sortie by himself. On the latter he dropped three bombs from 10,000 ft, but an error in the altimeter setting led to a mean drop error of 143 yds this time. All this showed how essential it was to get all the readings correct, and here they ran into the problem of calculating the exact [inserted] ground level [/inserted] barometric pressure reading over the target so as to be able to correct the altimeters to give their exact height. Another problem was to obtain absolutely accurate outside air temperatures, and the exact speed of the Lancaster (determined by a combination of airflow and Static Pressure vents in the instrumentation, and known errors (Position Errors) in the Static Pressure System (caused by the location of the vents in the fuselage airflow). All this was essential but complicated and the RAE and A&AEE had to make tests on the Lancasters to give 617 the most effective results, and to increase the accuracy of information fed into the SABS.
For a few days the weather held up training, but it resumed in October with a vengeance. David was flying different Lancasters on each sortie, a new [inserted] Mark III [/inserted] DV246 (KC-U) that had just been delivered, ED932 (Gibson’s old aircraft now recoded AJ-V) [inserted] for low-level sorties [/inserted], JB139 (KC-X), ED915 (AJ-Q), or EE146 (KC-K). He [inserted] sometimes [/inserted] went up three times a day, usually it was twice each day, and his bombing errors read consecutively: 74 yds from 10,000 ft, 182 yds (10,000 ft) then only 21 yds from a 200 ft high low-level sortie, 26 yds (200 ft), 96 yds (10,000 ft), 88 yds (10,000 ft), 101 yds [deleted] (10,000 ft) [/deleted], 86 yds [deleted] 10,000 ft) [/deleted], 57 yds (all at 10,000ft)
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60 yds (from 12,000 ft), 47 yds (1,000 ft), and so on. They had great difficulty getting the accuracy to any greater limits – which really was going to be essential if Barnes Wallis’ big, expensive bombs were to be dropped (These had streamlined aerodynamic fins, and would spin at an increased speed as they dropped, giving different trajectories to the normal, unstreamlined weapons).
Slowly the results of the RAE and A&AEE testing were incorporated on the Lancasters, and Sqd Ldr Richardson’s observations, and things at last began to come together.
Mick Martin went up with David and acted as the bomb-aimer himself on October 16th, flying in ED932 on a low-level sortie. He managed a mean error of 105 yds from 250 ft altitude – not very good! (He obviously then appreciated the level of accuracy David’s normal bomb-aimer could achieve – of 21 to 26 yds!)
David tried a run at 15,000 ft on October 17th – getting an error of 70 yds. But next day doing exactly the same, he only registered a mean error of 128 yds. (On both occasions he was flying ED932, now fitted up with the SABS system).
In the meantime, Mick Martin had been told by Cochrane to get the Squadron up to strength again in pilots and crews, and a good deal of interviewing had been carried out. Martin knew now that an extremely high degree of training and ultimate accuracy in dropping the new bombs was going to be needed, but the crews were going to have to be well blooded already with records to show that they could unflinchingly carry out day after day, the steady, straight run in to the target, whatever flak or defending fighter status. He sought only the very best and bravest of men, therefore, and rejected many applications on instinct. By the first week or so in October, however, he had selected a few more, including Pilot Officer F.E. Willsher – a young fair-haired boy of 19, only a year out of the school classroom; Flt. Lt Thomas Vincent O’Shaughnessy; Flying Officer Gordon Herbert Weeden; [deleted] and [/deleted] Warrant Officer “Chuffy” Bull; Flying Officer
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Geoffrey Stevenson Stout, DFC, [inserted] Flt Lt. R.S.D. Kearns, DFC, DFM; [/inserted] Pilot Officer Nicholas R Ross; [inserted] Sqd. Ldr William [inserted] R [/inserted] Suggett (to take over “A” Flight) [/inserted]; and Flying Officer J. (“Paddy”) Gingles. They all soon settled into the training routine, although both Ross and Bull hit trees on low-flying exercises, narrowly avoiding disaster each time.
David Wilson took up young Willsher on October 9th, to show him how the SABS worked on a 10,000 ft high-level bombing run, and in the afternoon of the same day, he flew ED932 at low level all through the Lake District and the Scottish Glens, taking 5 hrs 30 mins for the cross country. On the 11th he tried the SABS at 12 000 ft and got his error down to 60 yds, and then over the next few days he used it at 1,000 ft (Error=47 yds), 250 ft (with Mick Martin acting as bomb aimer again (Error=105 yds), then at 15,000 ft (Error=70 yds, with Sqd Ldr Richardson on board), then 15,000 ft again (128 yds). And so it went on with David flying his new Lancaster DV 246 [inserted]KC-U) [/inserted], or the two originals from the Dams raid, ED932 (AJ-V), or ED 924 [inserted] (AJ-Y) [/inserted], which had been flown by Cyril Anderson.
David took “Talking Bomb” down to the RAE at Farnborough on October 18th to have some modifications made to the SABS, then he flew the Sqd. Ldr. (who had been a Great War pilot in the RFC) up to the bombing range at West Freugh (near Stranraer) where they checked the bombsight out again at 14,000 ft and 8,000 ft.
As October drew to a close, the bugs seemed to be getting ironed out of the SABS system, as the various modifications were made to it, and after the sight went U/S two days running on practice bombing on 22nd and 23rd, at long last, on the afternoon of the 23rd, David flew over West Freugh again at 14,000 ft and dropped one 4,000 lb “Cookie” this time. It hit the 3-storey target building [inserted] at Braid Fell [/inserted] fair and square in the middle, demolishing it! (Average error = Zero!). On his next run, on the 25th, he dropped six 1,000 lb bombs from 14,000 ft, hit the target with one, gained a very near miss with a second, and put the other four close by ([inserted] Mean [/inserted] Error = 79 yds). Things were getting better!
[Underlined] Restarting Operations [/underlined]
November started off the same way – with more
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high and low level exercises. David had been allocated Guy Gibson’s old aircraft (ED932, AJ-V) on a permanent basis now, and he flew it on most of the practices. He did a run at 12,000 ft and dropped four [inserted] bombs (with [/inserted] an average error of 146 yds), then three bombs from 2,000 ft (53 yds), and then switched to one of Mick Martin’s latest ideas – bombing a PFF red Target Indicator from 15,000 ft. He scored a “bullseye” on it on November 5th (appropriately for Guy Fawkes night!), and with things now obviously getting to the stage where 617 Squadron was ready for operations with the SABS, David showed a VIP around his aircraft on November 6th (believed to be Roy Chadwick, Avro’s Chief Designer) and flew him back to Ringway in the afternoon.
Cochrane at Group had meanwhile decided it was time to test the SABS in action, and so Mick Martin was informed [inserted] that [/inserted] they were to raid the Anthéor Viaduct in Southern France again on November 11th – this time from 8,000 ft to avoid the flak from recently installed German defences.
On the morning of November 11th, David made one more practice flight in ED932, dropping 6 bombs from 15,000 ft and getting his mean error down to 89 yds. It was the best they could do, and he [inserted] then [/inserted] prepared for the evening’s operation. The Squadron despatched 11 aircraft, starting at 18.15, with Ted Youseman first off, and each being bombed-up with one 12,000 [inserted] lb [/inserted] H.C. Blast bomb. Mick Martin himself was leading the raid, and Dave Shannon and Les Munro were also flying, but Shannon had engine failure on take-off and had to abort. The others all got off safely – O’Shaughnessy, Rice, Bull, Clayton, Brown, Kearns, and David Wilson – and set course for Anthéor (David had two new members of his → [inserted] crew on this “op” – Flying officer Chandler and Warrant officer Holland, who were to stay with him ‘for some time (“Chan” Chandler had already survived 8 days in a dinghy in the N-Sea, after ditching in a 49 Sqd Hampden, returning from Düsseldorf in the early hours of July 1st, 1941). [/inserted]
They found the viaduct in half moonlight this time, but there were guns and searchlights to avoid, and there was another similar viaduct just to the West, in the bay by Agay, and this confused some crews sufficiently enough to aim at that. There were no direct hits, but Mick Martin’s bomb hit the railway line to one side of the viaduct, and several more got near misses, David’s bomb [inserted] being 30 yds out. [/inserted] But the viaduct survived, and the 10 Lancasters flew on to Blida again,
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in Algeria. There had been some ships just off the shore at Anthéor which had opened fire on some of the Lancasters, but none had been hit, and they all landed safely in N. Africa. They had a four day break there (taking full advantage of it as they had done before, to sample the local wines and unrationed food and fruit. [sic] They left on November 15th for Rabat in Morocco, and on the 17th flew home from Morocco to Coningsby, via the Bay of Biscay, loaded with Forces Christmas mail for home and fruit and wine. But one Lancaster never made it back – Ted Youseman and his crew were probably picked off by a German fighter, and were believed to have ditched in the sea south-west of Brest, perishing in the process.
{Underlined] New C.O.; new ideas. [/underlined]
While they had been away in N. Africa, a new C.O. had arrived to take command from Mick Martin (who had only been in charge on a temporary basis). His name – Wing Commander Geoffrey Leonard Cheshire, DSO and Bar, DFC – and he had dropped a rank from Group Captain, in order to take over 617. Mick Martin had some burning ideas now about marking targets first with flares, so the rest could bomb with the SABS system, and so did Cheshire too. He was to change 617’s role quite dramatically with his ideas – how dramatically, and how successfully none of them would have guessed in their wildest dreams!
After they were once more back at Coningsby, David tried out his SABS from 18,000 ft now, gaining an error of 137 yds for [inserted] dropping [/inserted] six bombs, and made a few routine air tests of his Lancaster (ED932) early in December. Cheshire also loaned out from 617 crews with McCarthy Clayton, Bull and Weeden, for a few days to the Special Duties Squadrons at Tempsford. They were needed to make pinpoint drops of guns and ammunition to the French Resistance [inserted] near Doullens (on the River Outhie in Northern France) [/inserted] on December 10th. The raid went badly, flak bringing down both Bull and Weeden’s aircraft with two of Bull’s crew, and all in Weeden’s being killed. McCarthy couldn’t find the target, and so he and Clayton went back on December 11th, and were successful this time. Cheshire and 617
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had lost two more valuable crews.
Almost immediately after this, 617 was detailed to bomb a [inserted] V1 [/inserted] Flying Bomb [inserted] launch [/inserted] site in the Pas de Calais, and Group decided to try out the SABS again at night, but this time, working on Martin and Cheshire’s ideas, arranged for the P.F.F to mark the wood concerned with incendiaries. [Inserted] → Mick Martin [inserted] – as Cheshire’s Deputy - [/inserted] had now taken over as O.C. “B” flight from Les Munro, and David Wilson was now flying as Mick’s right hand man. [/inserted] Nine Lancasters were [inserted] therefore [/inserted] sent off from 617 Squadron on December 16th, [inserted] led by Cheshire with Martin as his Deputy [/inserted] to bomb the “Ski-site” ** at Flixecourt on the Somme between Abbeville and Amiens. A single PFF Mosquito used the “Oboe” beam system of marking the target [inserted] with incendiaries [/inserted], and all nine 617 Lancasters dropped their single 12,000 ln H.C. Blast bombs as close to the burning wood as possible. David dropped his, and his bomb-aimer took a photograph of the aiming point to check on their return. [Inserted] His sortie lasted for 3 hrs 40 mins in all. [/inserted] Subsequent “recce” pictures showed the Squadron had collectively achieved a mean error of 94 yds – but the “Oboe” Mosquito had marked 350 yds from the target – and so all the bombs were wide! Cheshire was not amused.
David was up again on December 18th, doing a practice drop from 2,500 ft (Error-70 yds), and on the [inserted] morning of the [/inserted] 20th from 15,000 ft (Error=60 yds). This was a good, consistent result from differing altitudes and in different aircraft (ED932 and ME557). In fact ME557 [inserted] (KC-O) [/inserted] was a brand new Lanc, and David took a Ministry of Aircraft Production official up on the practice to check the [inserted] Napier [/inserted] compressors [inserted] supplying air to the SABS system [/inserted]. * It was also one of the first Lancasters fitted out to carry Barnes Wallis’ new 12,000 ln Tallboy streamlined bomb to be delivered to 617.
The next operation was on [inserted] the evening of [/inserted] December 20th to [inserted] the Cockerill steelworks [/inserted] [deleted] an armaments factory [/deleted] in a residential area of Liege, in Belgium. The bombing had to be accurate to avoid civilian casualties, so eight PFF Mosquitos preceded eight 617 Lancasters. The Mosquitos marked the target, but [deleted] as [/deleted] low cloud prevented the markers being seen, [inserted] Cheshire dived low to see for himself, and found the markers were well off the target. He therefore ordered [/inserted] the force [inserted] to [/inserted] return without bombing. David (and the [inserted] others [/inserted]) brought their 12,000 lb H.C. bombs back, and Geoff Rice was shot down by a night fighter, miraculously surviving alone out of his crew, to be taken prisoner. One more of the original 617 founders had gone.
* Recoded later as KC-S, this was the aircraft in which Flt. Lt. “Bill” Reid, VC, was shot down on July 31st 1944 (he survived).
** So-called because of the shape of the curved ramp V1 launch site.
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Two days later, on December 22nd, David was off again [inserted] (in AJ-V) [/inserted] to attack a [inserted] V1 [/inserted] Flying Bomb [inserted] launch [/inserted] site near Bellencombre, south-east of Dieppe, this time taking Flying Officer Len Sumpter, DFC, DFM as his [inserted] bomb-aimer [/inserted] [deleted] crew [/deleted] instead of F.O. Parkin. Sumpter had flown on the original Dams raid, been rested, and had just come back for a second tour with 617, [inserted] normally flying with Dave Shannon [/inserted]. But the PFF Mosquitos failed again, and David brought all 11 x 1,000 lb bombs back. There were no casualties, fortunately, but Cheshire was not impressed by these PFF failures
David had a few days leave, and resumed flying on the 31st, after Christmas. He missed the new attempt by 617 on December 30th to bomb Flixecourt again, with 10 Lancasters helped by six PFF Mosquitos. Once more the markers were 200 yds off target, 617 accurately straddled them, but because [inserted] of their accuracy [/inserted] missed the main target.
[Underlined] Sorting out the marking problem; a new base [/underlined]
At the beginning of January 1944, David was up on bombing practices again – high level from 15,000 ft (with an average error of 127 yds – and one bomb that toppled); then another of the same height with a better error (98 yds). That was on the morning of the 4th, and in the evening David was one of 11 Lancasters put up for attacking another Flying Bomb [inserted] launch [/inserted] site in the Pas de Calais area [inserted] – this time at Fréval. [/inserted] With the others, he bombed a PFF Target Indicator that they had dropped at very low level this time – but the T.I. was four miles from the target, however, and David brought a photo back to prove it. He blamed the PFF once more! This was obviously not good enough, and whereas 617 Squadron was now trained up to be the RAF’s most accurate bombing squadron, it was the Pathfinders who were now plainly not up to scratch! It was no good having accurate bombing on inaccurate target markers, and so Cheshire, Martin and Bob Hay (Flt. Lt. Robert Claude Hay, DFC and Bar, RAAF – 617’s bombing leader, and Mick Martin’s own bomb-aimer from the first raid on the Dams) put their heads together to work out their own in-house method of marking a target, and then bombing it with the rest of the Squadron. But they first had to prove that the System worked, and to do this they needed Cochrane’s
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permission from Group to discontinue using PFF assistance Cheshire, with his innocently youthful and matter-of-fact ways, soon got this.
Meanwhile, determined to get everyone’s accuracy up even further, David and the rest of 617 went on practicing, day after day, over the next 17 days of January. They made high-level bombing runs, low-level cross country flights, and usually pin-pointed targets all the way round in woodland areas – just like the V1 Flying Bomb sites. David flew these separate and original 617 Lancasters during this period – ED915, ED924 and his own ED932
On January 9th, after a practice over the Wainfleet Sands at low level, he and the others landed at Woodhall Spa – to be their new base from now onwards. Cochrane had decided that 617, with its special techniques, top priority targets – and more importantly, the forthcoming new Tallboy and 10-ton Grand Slam bombs they were to use – deserved a special one-squadron base secluded away from other camps. Woodhall Spa was a one-squadron aerodrome, and so 619 Squadron there moved to Coningsby (which could hold several squadrons), and 617 transferred in the reverse direction on January 9th 1944. → [Inserted] A few more pilots joined 617 at this time, including Lt. Nick Knilans, DSO, DFC (USAF), Flying Officer Geoffrey Stevenson Stout, DFC, and Flying Officer J.L. Cooper. [/inserted]
Over the next few days, operations now from Woodhall Spa and billeted in the delightful Petwood House Hotel (which served as the Officer’s Mess) David flew on low-level cross country sorties, but this time in formation. He flew his (and Guy Gibson’s old aircraft) ED932 for the last time on January 18th [inserted] across to Coningsby, [/inserted] and this veteran Lancaster was left there to be used by 61 Squadron in future (it survived the war intact, only to be eventually scrapped). On the 20th, David started some new tactics that Cheshire was devising – low flying over the Wash at only 60 ft high, and then flying across, and down, the aerodrome’s flarepath at 60 ft, practicing the tactics of dropping more Target Indicators onto a cluster dropped already by the leader (using the runway lights as imaginary markers). It was during this practicing on → [inserted] the 20th that O’Shaughnessy misjudged his height and hit a sea wall at Snettisham, crashing on the beach. He and one of his crew were killed, but the rest (one badly injured) survived to fight again. The Squadron had lost another [inserted] good [/inserted] pilot. [/inserted]
Next day, January 21st, Cheshire announced he had got permission to strike at a V1 [inserted] launch [/inserted] site again – but this time without using the PFF at all. That evening, they set out with even greater excitement than usual, for they knew they had to get a good result
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this time, to substantiate all their training.
David took another of his old mounts, JB139 [inserted] (KC-X) [/inserted], on this raid, and 617 put up 12 aircraft in all. The target was at Hallencourt, a few miles South of Abbeville, and Cheshire and Martin carried out their own new “Pathfinder” technique. First of all the leading pair dropped [inserted] Red Spot [/inserted] flares from 7,000 ft, then dived down [inserted] to about 400 ft, [/inserted] using their illumination of the target area to drop long-burning Target Indicators right on top of the Ski-site.* The rest of 617 then flew over, dropping their bombs on the T.I’s. David, in fact, carried 2 x 1,000 lb, 13 x 500 lb bombs and 6 flares in his Lancaster, and, in common with others, would have used the flares if necessary to help Cheshire and Martin to go on marking the target if their first T.I’s had gone out. But David didn’t need to use the flares on this occasion, nor did he drop all his bombs – only 7 x 500 lb and 1 x 1,000 were let go, and he brought the rest back. He got a good photograph of the aiming point [inserted] from his bombing level of 13,000ft, [/inserted] and when the crews got back to Woodhall Spa, they were jubilant. It had worked, and later “recce” pictures confirmed they had blasted the main target area – for a change!
Once again, in the next few days, David was hard at Cheshire’s new tactics again, doing low-level [inserted] (60 ft high) [/inserted] runs over Uppingham Reservoir, and practicing aiming at the flarepath at their base – or carrying out “Tomato” exercises (as they now referred to them). Then on January 25th came their second “Op” using their own marking [inserted] techniques [/inserted] on a V1 [inserted] launch [/inserted] site. Now it was Fréval [inserted] again [/inserted], and David was one of 12 617 Lancasters to head for the target, flying a Mk I (DV385, KC-A). [deleted] from 50 Squadron for a few days [/deleted] He carried 13 x 500 lb and 2 x 1,000 lb bombs and Cheshire and Martin dived in low again aided by a green Target Indicator dropped [inserted] in the general target area by the PFF, [/inserted] marked the target [inserted] with Red Spot flares [/inserted] in very gusty wind conditions, and David and the rest dropped their bombs exactly on target. It was a case of two out of two “bullseyes” for 617, and there were no losses from either raid.
[Underlined] Picking off the targets [/underlined]
Cochrane now realised that Cheshire and 617
* Cochrane had insisted that the marking had to be done from above 2,500 ft, but Cheshire and Martin had worked out the dive-bombing technique down to 400 ft!
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were now thoroughly capable of using their low-marking techniques on any number of specialised targets – and Cheshire had eventually told him of their habit of dive-bombing their Lancasters right down to 400 ft over the target. So Cochrane now picked a beauty for them – the new engine works at Limoges, in mid-western France. This was to be on February 8th, and so in the days leading up to this, David found himself practicing once again, this time dropping bombs on the ranges from 1,500 ft, 2,000 ft, then at 8,000 ft, 10,000 ft and finally 14,500 ft (at West Freugh). At low-level his mean error was 222 yds, but at 10,000 ft he got it down to 39 yds, and at West Freugh to 65 yds.
Finally, the 8th dawned, and in the evening 12 Lancasters took off for the Gnome et Rhône aero engine works at Limoges. Cheshire and Martin left 15 minutes before the rest – led by Dave Shannon and consisting of David, Ken Brown, Bob Knights (a new pilot), Knilans, Ross, Kearns, Willsher Clayton and Suggitt.
Para // Cheshire had worked out a special technique for this raid , as most of the workers were French, and the factory was close to a built-up area where many of them lived. There was cloud right along their route, but it broke just before they reached Limoges, on the River Vienne. Cheshire then flew over the factory roof three times, down to about 100 ft to warn all the night shift workers to leave, and take shelter. His aircraft, DV380 (Coded KC-N) had had some modifications to accommodate an RAF Film Unit crew, led by Sqd Ldr. Pat Moyna. Half its fuselage door was cut away to instal [sic] two 35mm movie cameras, and two large mirrors were fitted underneath to reflect as much light as possible (had Roy Chadwick, the Lancaster’s designer known, he would doubtless have considered it as sacrilege)!
After Cheshire’s third run, his crew could see the French workers streaming out of the factory, to their air raid shelters, and after waiting a few minutes, Cheshire went in to drop his cascading incendiary markers and Red Spot fires directly on top of the centre of the factory roofs. The Film crew had a beanfeast, obtaining some of the most remarkable shots of the War, as the cascades of light lit up the factory, river and railway yards nearby.
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Mick Martin then followed Cheshire in, flying his Lancaster DV402 (coded KC-P), and dropped his markers on top of Cheshires – After that Cheshire told the main force overhead to bomb, and he cruised around the area at 5,000 ft, to let the film crew record the event. They had a grandstand view, as the other 10 Lancasters (David was flying ME559, KC-Q) unloaded their weapons on the factory. Five of them carried 12,000 lb H.C. Blast bombs, the other seven – like David – [inserted] each [/inserted] dropped 12 x 1,000 lb bombs, and most of them were within the factory perimeter. David reckoned his stick fell slightly off target, and straddled the railway lines away from the factory.
Cheshire then ordered all crews home, but he flew around the burning, smoking factory in the moonlight at 100ft (or less) for half an hour, letting the Film crew complete a unique task. Even Cheshire’s crew got fidgety, trying to egg him on gently to start for home. As Moyna said afterwards: “Cheshire seemed as unconcerned as an assistant arranging a group photograph in a studio”! Finally, they turned out to the Bay of Biscay, and flew back over the sea. They all arrived back safely – Cheshire about an hour behind the rest. And the main achievement (for Cheshire) was a perfect record on film to show the AOC and all the others at Bomber Command HQ, illustrating how effective low-level marking could be.
[Underlined] Third attempt at Anthéor. [/underlined]
After the attack on Limoges, David’s next flight with 617 was another operation on February 12th – back to the Anthéor viaduct again. The Squadron had already attacked it twice, and the USAF once, but it was still intact and carrying almost 100,000 tons of German supplies down to the Italian Front each week. All these attacks had, however, served only to get the Germans to defend it more heavily each time, and the defences were formidable this time.
Once again 617 fielded 10 Lancasters for the “Op”. but Cheshire was concerned about the range at their disposal, for Cochrane refused permission for them to carry on to Sardinia this time, saying he needed 617 back in the UK after the raid. In order to squeeze every gallon of petrol into their tanks, they flew
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their Lancasters down to Ford aerodrome, between Bognor Regis and Littlehampton on the South Coast, using it as an advance base to refuel. Then Cheshire and Martin took off ahead of the others, climbing through bad icing conditions, and arrived some five minutes ahead of the main force.
It was a pitch black night and the narrow valley was full of all types of ack ack guns, which opened up in an absolute hail of flak. Cheshire tried three times to dive down the valet over the viaduct, and drop his load of markers and flares, but each time he was blinded by the flak and forced off course and out to sea. Martin then had a go, and Cheshire tried to get back inland to draw off the fire as he ran in, but was out of position as Mick slid down the dark ravine. As Mick levelled out over the viaduct, a 20mm cannon shell exploded through the bomb-aimers’s cupola, and Bob Hay was killed instantly, and the Flight Engineer, Ivan Whittaker injured in his legs.
Cheshire ordered Martin to fly on to Sardinia, and land there (where he had wanted the entire Squadron to go), and then he went in again himself, this time at 5,000 ft, above the ravine and out of range of the cannon fire. There was still a mass of heavy flak bursts, and David [inserted] in Lancaster ED763 (KC-D), [/inserted] and the others flying overhead thought it looked impossible for anyone to survive in that holocaust. Cheshire managed to drop some of his Red Spot markers, but they drifted to the beach side of the viaduct. With time over the target limited by having to return to the UK, Shannon up above now commenced the high-level bombing, and David and the others followed. David dropped his single 12,000 H.C. Blast bomb [inserted] from 9,500 ft [/inserted] and turned for home. Only one of these weapons dropped close to the viaduct, the rest falling closer to the beach, and once again the bridge remained intact! Finally, after a flight lasting seven hours exactly *, David touched down at Ford again, to refuel and rest, before flying back to Woodhall Spa that morning. [Deleted] The Lancaster he had used this time was ED763 (KC-D). [/deleted]
But fate had not finished with the Squadron yet, for next morning, as the 617 crews left Ford to fly up to Woodhall Spa, Sqd. Ldr. Bill
* David’s previous sortie to Limoges lasted 7 hrs 25 mins altogether but this was from Woodhall Spa. It took about an hour each way from there down to Ford.
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Suggitt climbed out to the West, and turned to starboard in DV382 (KC-J) to set course to the North-east. He had to climb up through the clouds shrouding [inserted] the [/inserted] South Downs, and just after 08.30 a tractor driver at Duncton Hill Farm saw the Lancaster impact on Littleton Down, above him. Wreckage spread everywhere, and all Suggitt’s crew died instantaneously, although Suggitt himself died two days later, still in a coma. Flight Sgt. John Pulford, DFM, the last but one survivor of Guy Gibson’s original raid crew, died in the crash. (The last survivor, Flt. Lt. Richard Trevor-Roper DFC, DFM, was killed on a 97 Squadron operation just 20 days later).
[Underlined] Improving the techniques. [/underlined]
After Mick Martin returned from Sardinia later, his Lancaster temporarily patched up, Cochrane sent him off for a rest period – much against his will. But Cochrane preferred living Flight Commanders to dead ones, and he had few survivors left now, of the original 617 founding pilots.
Then came some top-level Group and Command meetings – at one of which Cheshire appeared on the one hand, proposing greater use of his and Martin’s low-level marking techniques (preferably using Mosquitos in future), and on the other hand Air Vice Marshal Don Bennett [inserted] of 8 Group [/inserted] was strongly defending his PFF high-level marking (and being generally dismissive of 617 Squadron’s techniques).
Cochrane, however, gave Cheshire some leeway in his 5 Group, and set a string of targets now for 617 to attack where Cheshire could devise the necessary low-level marking himself. With Martin gone now, Cheshire took Les Munro as his Deputy, and Les became “B” Flight Commander, with David Wilson as his right hand man. Cheshire did not yet put in a bid for two Mosquitos (but he was busy making the necessary high-level contact in the RAF in order to obtain them quickly and painlessly when he needed them). He knew that the light, fast and manoeuvrable Mosquito would help to make diving onto the target so much easier, and also assist in avoiding the defensive flak.
The last half of February 1944 passed for David with no more than four training flights or air tests
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being flown, due to bad weather. The last of these, on February 29th, was a bomb-dropping exercise from 15,000 ft, where David’s crew scored a 100 yd average error. Then came another practice from 10,000 ft on the morning of March 2nd, followed by 617’s next operation the same evening – this time to the aero-engine works at Albert in the Pas de Calais, between Amiens and Bapaume. Because this was believed to be heavily defended (repairing as it did, vital BMW engines for Focke Wulf FW 190 fighters) Cochrane ordered Cheshire not to mark below 5,000 ft this time. This was Leonard Cheshire’s 75th operation, and David Wilson’s 67th, yet 617’s three Flight Commanders – Dave Shannon, Joe McCarthy and Les Munro were some way behind these totals themselves. Both McCarthy and Munro were now promoted to Squadron Leaders.
David’s aircraft, DV246 (KC-U) was loaded up completely this time with [inserted] 248 x 30 lb [/inserted] incendiaries, and Cheshire and Munro (as deputy) went ahead to position themselves down to 5,000 ft so as to identify the target when the flares were dropped by the leading 617 Lancasters [inserted] of the 13 flying [/inserted] overhead. Cheshire went in under the flares to drop his markers, but his aircraft’s SABS bombsight went U/S on the approach, and while he stood off [inserted] for his bomb-aimer [/inserted] to try to get it working, he called in Munro to drop markers [inserted] just [/inserted] as the flares burnt out. Munro’s markers were spot on, and 617 bombed the factory from higher up, practically all their bombs and certainly David’s load of incendiaries [/inserted] (dropped from 9,200 ft) [/inserted] hitting the factory dead-centre. It was a text book operation, and Cheshire’s diary entry was almost right when he wrote: “This factory will produce no more engines for the Hun!”
Two nights later, on March 4th, 617’s target was the small, but important [inserted] La Ricamerie [/inserted] needle-bearing factory at St. Etienne (to the South-west of Lyon). It was a very small target, in a narrow valley with 4,000 ft hills on either flank, and once again in a built-up area, meaning it had to be picked out surgically, without harming the French citizens if possible.
Again, 15 Lancasters were put up that night, Cheshire and Munro leading (the latter on three engines, as one had packed up after take off). But there was ten-tenths cloud over the target, as David Wilson recorded. He was carrying a Sqd Ldr. Doubleday that night in his usual mount, JB139 (KC-X), and 1,000 lb
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bombs. But Cheshire couldn’t mark the target because of the bad weather, and so they all brought their bombs back that night. David’s flight there and back lasted exactly four hours.
Six days later, with better weather forecast, 617 tried to hit St. Etienne again. This time 16 Lancasters set off for La Ricamerie factory – on the same night that 5 Group bombed the Michelin works at Clermont-Ferrand. This time Cheshire made six attempts to mark at very low level in the blackness, dropping them accurately on the last run, but they bounced beyond the factory. Munro followed, and dropped short, Shannon tried and his markers bounced beyond, and finally Arthur Kell (a new Australian pilot) made a low-level dive and planted incendiaries in the factory. The rest of 617 then bombed the incendiaries (to Cheshire’s commands), and David unleashed his 11 x 1,000 lb bombs [inserted] from X “X-Ray” on the second run in [/inserted] in two sticks, [inserted] dropping them from 8000 ft. [/inserted] When they returned safely, David’s bob-aimer believed they had missed the target, but when “Recce” photographs were obtained, 617 was delighted to see the target had been completely destroyed, and there was no damage to the built-up area outside!
There was no more training at the moment, and the next “Op” was on March 15th, to an aero-engine works at Woippy, on the Northern outskirts of Metz (on the R. Moselle, East of Paris). It was freezing cold weather and 617 and 619 Squadrons sent a combined 22 Lancasters up this night, but the target was hidden by cloud [deleted] again [/deleted]. David was carrying a single 12,000 H.C. Blast bomb in his [inserted] JB139 [/inserted] X “X-Ray” again, but there was no hope of bombing, and so they all brought their bombs back. This was a longer sortie – 5 hrs 30 mins – and one [inserted] 617 [/inserted] crew, flying with Flying Officer Duffy, were attacked by three night fighters on their return leg, and claimed all three shot down!
Next day, March 16th, 617 was off again, this time to bomb the Michelin tyre factory at Cataroux, Clermont-Ferrand. The 15 Lancasters they put up were joined by six from 106 Squadron that were fitted with [inserted] the [/inserted] new [inserted] H2S [/inserted] radar bombing equipment. These latter aircraft dropped the flares this time, and Cheshire
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Made his usual low-level dives over the Cataroux Michelin factory to warn the [inserted] French [/inserted] workers to take cover, dropping his markers on the third run – but a little short. He was being extremely careful once more, because the factory had these major sheds in its complex, but a fourth large building – the French workers canteen – had “on no account to be damaged, if possible”, (Group’s instructions). Cheshire then called in his three Flight Commanders, Munro, Shannon and McCarthy, and they all managed to drop their markers directly on the factory sheds. To do this, they had to have a constant rain of flares to illuminate the target, and David Wilson in JB139 released his six, to help their aim. Then Cheshire called up the others to bomb the newly laid markers and David released his [inserted] single [/inserted] 12,000 Blast bomb *, right on target, and turned for home. This trip lasted 6 hrs 40 mins in all, with the separate run-ins to drop flares, and then the weapon, and with poor weather conditions back at Woodhall Spa, David landed at Coningsby on the return, positioning back to base [inserted] later [/inserted] in the morning.
The “recce” pictures next morning showed the works entirely in flames – and yet the canteen was intact! In fact Cheshire had once again carried Sqd Ldr Pat Moyna and his Film Unit in his Lancaster, and filmed the progress of the bombing from low-level.
Off again on March 18th, David was one of 13 Lancasters this time from 617 Squadron, to bomb the French [inserted] “Poudrerie Nationale” [/inserted] explosives factory at Bergerac, on the R. Dordogne east of Bordeaux. Cochrane had meanwhile told Cheshire that he would try to obtain two Mosquitos, to carry on the low-level marking in greater safety, and therefore until they came, Cheshire must not do any more low-level marking below 5,000 ft. On this raid therefore, six other 5 Group Lancasters, using H2S, joined 617 Squadron, and Cheshire marked from 5,000 ft – spot on – followed by an equally accurate Munro. Shannon and McCarthy both marked an ammunition dump close by. Then the others started to bomb, and before David [inserted] (in JB139 again) [/inserted] dropped his 12,000 lb weapon on the factory [inserted] from 10,000 ft [/inserted], Bunny Clayton dropped his on the nearby
* Six crews carried this weapon on the raid (those with the most accurate bombing averages). This weapon was now referred to as “The Factory Buster”.
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ammunition dump, which exploded in a 15-second long, gigantic flash that blinded everybody. Cheshire, down below, looked up and saw the rest of 617’s Lancasters silhouetted above him against the sky. Then David’s bomb slammed into the powder works, and it disappeared in turn beneath a series of vast explosions. “The powder works”, Cheshire noted, “would appear to have outlived their usefulness!”
This route also took 6 hrs 40 mins from take-off to touch-down, and two days later (as usual now) on [inserted] March [/inserted] 20th, David was off again [inserted] in JB139 [/inserted] to another explosives works – this one at Angoulême, [inserted] North-east of Bordeaux [/inserted]. The pattern was repeated, six 5 Group Lancasters using H2S to drop flares, Cheshire leading 617’s total force of 14 Lancasters and marking from 5,000 ft again. This explosives factory, on a bend on the R. Charente there, performed in the same manner as the one at Bergerac. David dropped 1 x 8,000 lb and 1 x 1,000 lb bomb from 8,300 ft on top of this works, and the factory was completely – and spectacularly – destroyed. Some 6 hrs 5 mins later, David was safely back at Woodhall Spa, as were all 617 crews, and the Film Unit in Cheshire’s aircraft again.
[Underlined] Lyon – third time lucky [/underlined]
The fact that 617 would never leave a “demolition job” half-finished was becoming equally well known to Germans and British alike. The Germans were, in fact, beginning to draft in more defences to the vital plants in France that were supplying their War Effort. But nowhere was this reputation more tested than with their attack on the SIGMA aero-engine works near Lyon on the night of March 23rd 1944. Again six Lancasters of 106 Squadron were to act as the Flare droppers, and 617 put up 14 aircraft.
Cheshire told the 106 crews when to drop their flares, but the first lot were too far North, the second try fell short to the South, and final corrections failed to illuminate the actual target. Cheshire now had to send in his own 617 flare droppers, at altitude, and he just managed one dive over the target at 5,000 ft before they went out. He was not sure his markers had hit, but ordered the rest of 617 to bomb them. David was carrying 11 x 1,000 lb bombs [inserted] in JB139 [/inserted] this time, all fitted with long delay fuses (for the safety of the French
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civilians), so Cheshire had to fly around on his own afterwards to assess the results. They exploded eventually, and certainly something had been hit fair and square.
On the return, all but one 617 aircraft diverted to Tangmere – a fighter station near Chichester – only Nick Ross getting back to Woodhall Spa [inserted] (David’s sortie had lasted 6 hrs 45 mins by this time). [/inserted] There was very limited accommodation, and Cheshire and his Flight Commanders slept with some of the 617 crews in their billets, and on the floor – being last in that morning! When they returned to Woodhall Spa after resting, it was to discover that their target was untouched – they had bombed the wrong factory!
So, next day, March 25th, they went back again to finish the job. This time there were 22 Lancasters in all, including the half dozen from 106 Squadron, but Cheshire had re-organized the Flare-dropping force this time, putting 617’s Kearns in charge of all such flare usage – be it by 106 or 617 Squadron. Cochrane had allowed Cheshire to mark at low-level this time, if required, and as the flares went down Cheshire once again realised they were off target. Eventually he and Kearns got them back on the right target, and Cheshire and McCarthy simultaneously marked underneath. Cheshire then realised they had dropped their spot markers on the wrong buildings, and went in again, his second lot of red spot incendiaries again overshooting. Finally he called in McCarthy again, who hit the target with his last markers, and Cheshire ordered these to be bombed by the rest. Due to problems of communication, however, all the 617 crews orbiting overhead then bombed the early markers – missing the target once again! David’s load this time consisted entirely of 500 lb incendiary clusters and they obtained a good aiming point photograph – proving once back home again 7 hrs 20 mins later, that they had missed the right aero engine works for the second time!
Once more, therefore, 617 set out again on March 29th to try and complete the demolition job. This time 106 and 617 put up 19 Lancasters, and Cheshire was ordered to mark from 5,000 ft again. The flares
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dropped by 106 this time failed to ignite, and Kearns therefore ordered 617 crews to drop their flares. These were accurate, and Cheshire then marked carefully, getting his spot fires just a few yards out of the target centre. When David and the rest above bombed these, their average error put their bombs within the target area this time. David was carrying 1 x 8,000 lb and 1 x 1,000 lb bomb [inserted] in JB139 [/inserted] this occasion, [deleted] flying his usual X “X-ray” [/deleted], and his crew knew immediately that they had at last scored a “bulls-eye”. It took just 7 hrs this time, before they were back at base, third time lucky!
[Underlined] Mosquito marking; and marshalling yards. [/underlined]
Two days before this operation – the last that Cheshire flew and marked in a Lancaster – Cochrane said he had obtained the use of two Mosquitos for marking in future. Cheshire went to see them at Coleby Grange on the 27th, and then later on the day he returned from Lyon (the 30th) he had an hour’s dual instruction on it before flying it to Woodhall Spa. He decided that [inserted] McCarthy [/inserted], Shannon, Kearns and Fawke should join him on the Mosquitos as pilots, and they did some rapid dual instruction and test flights. And within two weeks Cochrane had given them two more Mosquitos.
David Wilson was on a few days leave at the beginning of April, and missed the next operation to the aircraft repair plant at Toulouse-Blagnac aerodrome on April 5th. This was the first time Cheshire used his Mosquito to do the target marking, and this time he was marking not just for 617 Squadron – in the lead – but for the whole of 5 Group which joined in the raid for the first full scale rest of operations to come. In addition to Cheshire’s Mosquito, 617 Squadron fielded 17 Lancasters, and 5 Group put up another 127 altogether. Cheshire found the target clear of cloud, and dived three times, dropping his markers right on target, despite considerable flak of all types. But the Mosquito was fast and agile, and the flak was inaccurate because of this. Munro and McCarthy had marked with Lancasters, and then 617 and other 5 Group Lancasters unloaded their bomb
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loads on the aircraft factory, and on other nearby targets too. All were destroyed, but Cheshire had to leave the scene early, as he was not sure of the range of the Mosquito at low altitude, without extra wing tanks.
When David returned from leave, he was immediately scheduled on the next raid on April 10th, this time to the Luftwaffe’s Signals Equipment Depôt at St. Cyr, by Versailles. He was given the new Lancaster, LM485 (KC-N), which Les Munro had flown in the Toulouse raid on the 5th, and bombed-up with 1 x 8,000 lb and 6 x 500 lb bombs. This raid was just carried out by 617, using Cheshire’s Mosquito and 17 Lancasters, and Cheshire eventually dive-bombed the target [inserted] down to 700 ft [/inserted] with his markers, after having trouble finding it in the dark. But he was spot on again, and David and the rest bombed the target [inserted] from 13,600 ft, [/inserted] destroying most of it.
Discussions at Bomber Command HQ now led to the C-in-C, Harris, agreeing now to let Cochrane have his own Pathfinder Force, within 5 Group, built around the special marking techniques developed by 617 Squadron. Thus Cochrane now received back two Lancaster Squadrons – 83 and 97 – which had originally been seconded to 8 PFF Group, and one Mosquito Squadron – 627 – [inserted] also [/inserted] from 8 Group, (much against the wishes of their A.O.C., Don Bennett).
The object now was to use the Mosquito squadron, and 617’s Mosquitos, for marking large targets, have the Lancasters of 83 and 97 Squadrons dropping the flares and acting as back-ups, and use 617 as the lead bombing squadron, and the others to bomb from a higher level. The next target was just such a place – the marshalling yards at Juvisy, 10 miles South of Paris.
David, meanwhile, had been back over the ranges again with 617, honing their skills all the time. He had “Talking Bomb” up with him on one high level from 15,000 ft, did some low-level flying, and then, on April 18th, was off to Juvisy with 201 other Lancasters in the Group, plus 617’s four Mosquitos [inserted] flown by Cheshire, Fawke, Shannon and Kearns.) [/inserted] Flying LM 485 [inserted] (KC-N) [/inserted] again, David was designated (as was the whole of 617 Sqd) to mark the target for the [inserted] Group’s Lancasters. [/inserted], and carried 6 x Red Spots,
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[inserted] 6 x 1,000 lb, and [/inserted] 4 x 500 lb bombs. The railway yards were on the West bank of the R. Seine, just on the south-east corner of Orly aerodrome, and [deleted] they covered such a large aera that the raid was split into two waves – one to attack the Southern half, the next (one hour later) to attack the Northern section. [/deleted] Cheshire found the Southern aiming point under flares dropped by 83 and 97 Squadrons above (although he had suffered a compass [inserted] failure [/inserted] in the Mosquito). He marked the yards successfully, and was backed up by the other [deleted] of the [/deleted] 617 Mosquitos, and David and the 617 Lancasters then unloaded their markers and bombs from 6,500ft fairly accurately on the target, [deleted] David and his 617 colleagues being the most [/deleted] with the rest of 5 Group – being trained in area (rather than spot) bombing – then carpeting the whole area. [Deleted] soon marked for the second wave, in Northern half of the yards, and again the results were accurate. [/deleted] The combined 5 Group method was becoming one of Bomber Command’s [inserted] most [/inserted] successful weapons!
On [inserted] the morning [/inserted] April 20th, David made his highest practice bombing run yet on Wainfleet Ranges – from 20,000 ft this time. He did not know it, but Cochrane was anticipating the arrival shortly of Barnes Wallis’ new Tallboy Bomb, and the higher it would be accurately dropped, the deeper it would penetrate in the ground before exploding, and creating an “earthquake” effect – bringing any building crashing (even if made of solid concrete).
The same evening (April 20th) David took part in another massed 5 Group attack – this time on the marshalling yards on the North side of Paris, at Porte de la Chapelle, just up the line from the Gare du Nord. He was flying LM485 (KC-N) this evening, and because these yards were very close to the residential tenement blocks surrounding them, extreme care was needed in dropping both markers and bombs. This raid was also even bigger than the one in Juvisy, because 5 Group also borrowed the services of some 8 Group PFF Mosquitos to drop markers by their Oboe equipment (using converging radio beams from UK stations), before 617’s Mosquitos, and Lancasters [inserted] of [/inserted] all three 5 Group marking Squadrons (617, 83 and 97) did their marker and bomb dropping, and then the 5 Group’s Lancasters bombed the target. There was a total of
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247 Lancasters, and 22 Mosquitos in all involved this night, and the raid was split into two waves, each about an hour apart, which attacked the Southern and Northern halves of the yards separately.
The Oboe markers were a little late over the target and there were inevitably some communication problems with all the aerial units involved, and Cheshire trying to control the different facets of the operation. But these were overcome, and another accurate blitzing of the target was achieved. David dropped [inserted] 6 x Red Spots, 6 x 1,000 lb and 4 x 500 lb [/inserted] bombs this time [inserted] from 6500 ft [/inserted], and achieved a direct hit on the aiming point. His sortie lasted 4 hrs 10 mins this time, and once again, all 617 aircraft – Mosquitos and Lancasters, returned safely, although 6 Lancasters from the other squadrons were lost. On the subject of Squadron losses, 617 itself was now very much below the average of most squadrons in this respect, helped no doubt by its training, and the fact that it had concentrated recently on French targets, rather than those in the most heavily defended parts of Germany. There were other reasons too – such as Cheshire’s acquaintance with an RAF officer who was [inserted] the [/inserted] Senior Controller of Beachy Head radar station, near Eastbourne. This had some new American equipment that gave long range cover for Fighter Command deep into France and the Low Countries, and the officer suggested that it could be used at night to warn 617’s Lancasters if they were being stalked by German nightfighters. Cheshire then had 617’s Lancasters fitted with special crystal pick-ups and the latest VHF sets (all with Cochrane’s approval) and from there on, they had valuable radar protection on their missions into the Continent.
[Underlined] Tallboys, and “Taxable”. [/underlined]
The next operation Cochrane planned for 617 was an attack on a German railway centre, and the first he chose was Braunschweig (Brunswick), to the east of Hannover, on the evening of April 22nd. This was historically important, as it was the first time that 617 and 5 Group employed their low-level marking activities over German soil. David, however, missed this operation, and the next ones on Munich [inserted] on April 24th [/inserted] (marshalling yards again) and the German
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tank and troop park at Mailly-le-Camp (May 3rd) – because he was busily engaged in working [inserted] up [/inserted] himself and a few [inserted] other [/inserted] specially selected 617 crews on the Barnes Wallis Tallboy bomb technique. For the most accurate bombing crews on the squadron had been selected to drop these new 12,000 lb weapons (and later, the 22,000 lb Grand Slam bombs too).
It is worth recording, however, that the Braunschweig raid saw 238 Lancasters and 17 Mosquitos of 5 Group, and 10 Lancasters of 1 Group take part, The result was not good, chiefly because there was low cloud and although 617 marked the yards successfully (in the light of flares dropped by 83 and 97 Squadron Lancasters above), other H2S aimed markers were inadvertently dropped farther South, and much of the main force bombed these. One Lancaster of 5 Group had left its radio transmitter on, and it jammed every direction Cheshire tried to give to the other crews. Four Lancasters were lost, but none from 617.
The Munich raid, on April 24, was by contrast an immense tactical success. A mixed force of 260 aircraft once more struck the railway yards there (as well as spreading out over other areas of the town) after Cheshire and 617 Mosquitos had marked the target, [inserted] and Cheshire flew around at low level through a considerable curtain of flak and searchlights. Diversionary raids were flown to Karlsrühr (by the main force), and on Milan (a spoof “Window” dropping exercise by six 617 crews), and the only casualty 617 suffered this time was Flt. Lt. J.L. Cooper (a recent joiner from 106 Squadron). His Lancaster was shot down en route to Munich as Aichstetten, just North-east of Lake Constance, and although his bomb-aimer was killed, the rest of the crew survived to be taken prisoner. [Inserted] Eight other Lancasters of 5 Group were also lost this night. [/inserted] They were lucky to be in Bavaria – for there was now a large price on the heads of 617 crews caught in France!
[Inserted] After this raid on Munich, Cochrane ordered 617 crews to have a weeks complete leave, and most used the rest to good effect. But one or two stayed behind, David Wilson being one.
One factor worth noting about this raid was that Cheshire could not obtain extra fuel tanks for 617’s four Mosquitos. They had to fly these to Manston, refuel on the runway and take off without warming up the engines, to be sure of getting to Munich. None of them believed they could get back to Manston, and yet all just made it – despite a German night fighter in the circuit when they landed! [/inserted]
The Mailly raid upset 617’s and 5 Groups recent success patterns with a vengeance – but it was [inserted] just [/inserted] one of these things (C’est la Guerre”). Mailly was a large French military training area South of Chalons-sur-
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Marne (itself just a few miles [inserted] South-east [/inserted] of Rhiems). Here, it was known the Germans had a Panzer division and their equipment in transit.
Cheshire and 617’s other three Mosquito pilots, Shannon, Fawke and Kearns, were ordered to mark at Mailly, but 617’s Lancasters were not detailed for this raid – which was just as well. Cheshire marked the target perfectly, and ordered the 5 Group Controller to order the first wave of Lancasters to bomb. But things started to go wrong then, as the [inserted] latter’s [/inserted] radio was subsequently found to be seriously off frequency, and his VHF set was being drowned by an American Forces broadcast. After some delay they started to bomb, but because the second wave was held back, Shannon and Kearns had to remark the target in the face of considerable flak. The second wave also bombed accurately, but in the delays caused by the lack of communication, and while Cheshire had to get the Deputy Controller to take over, German night fighters began to arrive in large numbers, and harried the Lancasters all the way back to Northern France. All the 617 crews returned safely, but 42 Lancasters were lost out of the 340 Lancasters and 16 Mosquitos sent on the raid by 5, 1 and 8(PFF) Groups. (This was an 11.6% loss rate – some three times the normal)!
David missed Braunschweig and Munich, because on April 22nd (the day after his return from La Chappelle) he took his old JB139 (originally KC-X, but now changed to KC-V) down to Boscombe Down to carry out trials with Barnes Wallis’ 12,000 ln Tallboy bomb. Sqd Ldr Richardson (“Talking Bomb”) was also there and over the next four days, David took him up several times daily, making high-level trials dropping prototype Tallboys from 18,000 ft each time. On the 26th he returned to Woodhall Spa, carrying seven of the scientists concerned with these tests. He had to break off the special Tallboy dropping exercises in May, however, as all 617’s crews were now engaged on one of their most boring exercises – yet [deleted] as [/deleted] it turned out, it was to be perhaps their most successful and decisive of all – Operation “Taxable”.
The [deleted word] squadron was being trained up to conduct a major “spoof” exercise on the day before D-Day.
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This would entail [inserted] two waves, each of 8 [/inserted] [deleted] 16 [/deleted] Lancasters, flying on instruments in short overlapping circuits, and dropping “Window” to try to indicate to the German shore defences that an invasion fleet was heading their way. (And of course it would be in a very different direction to that taken by the real fleet). The whole operation, once started, would have to be kept up [deleted] continuously [/deleted] for some four hours or more. [Deleted] to seem on the German radar as if a vast number of ships was slowly advancing in their direction. [/deleted] The continuous orbiting by the Lancasters had to be at low level [inserted] 3,000 ft [/inserted], start at a pre-arranged time near Dover, and advance gradually over a group of 18 surface vessels flying barrage balloons, as the vessels sailed beneath them towards the coast below Calais. Bundles of “Window” would have [inserted] to be dropped out every 12 seconds during the four hours. [/inserted]
The month of May, 1944 was probably the most boring in the Squadron’s history, as they practised, day after day, and usually for an hour or so at a time, the intricate navigational exercises that would enable them to fly these continuous orbits. David flew a total of 26hrs 20 mins altogether on these exercises, between May 6th and June 4th, in his Lancaster I, LM485 (KC-N). As the continuous orbiting was going to be a taxing operation, each Lancaster would have to have two crews on board, one relieving the other at the halfway point. David had as his relief pilot a Pilot Officer Sanders and his crew, and after May 13th they always flew together.
On May 18th, David tested out a new “automatic pilot” (or “George”) that Avro’s had fitted to his aircraft, to alleviate the strain of the exercise. These were fitted to all the other Lancasters. At the end of May the Squadron flew up to Yorkshire to practice over the North Sea, and dovetail the second wave of 8 Lancasters into the tricky take-over from the first wave – to keep dropping the “Window” without any gaps (lest the German radar show some strange interruptions in the “fleet’s” progress).
Finally, all was ready on the night of June 5th, and the first wave of 617’s Lancasters set off at about 23.00, the first wave finishing their intricate movements halfway across the Channel
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between Dover and the Pas de Calais coast at around 02.30, and being relieved by the second wave, who finished at around 05.00, after daybreak and by which time they were in sight of the French coast. Another Squadron, No 218, used six Stirling bombers fitted with G-H blind bombing radar units, working in the same fashion but a little more to the East of 617.
In the event, as David noted in his log book, the exercise was “believed very successful”. His total sortie lasted for 4 hrs 40 mins, and the entire Squadron was heartily glad when it was over!
[Underlined] Effect of the Tallboy raids [/underlined]
Two days later, 617 Squadron was back on its normal type of bombing operations again, but this time the raid was laid on suddenly, at short notice, to try to prevent a German Panzer Division reaching the D-Day bridgehead. They were moving up from Bordeaux, and Cochrane ordered 617 to take the newly arrived Tallboy bombs, and try to block a rail tunnel on their route. This was at Saumur, on the R. Loire West of Tours, on the South side of the river just before the railway crossed the Loire on a long, low bridge.
The Squadron was hurriedly bombed up with the 12,000 lb streamlined Tallboy, which had a casing of hardened chrome molybdenum steel and a filling of some 5,000 lbs of Torpex D1 explosive. It was some 21 feet long, and 3ft 2 ins in diameter, with four aerodynamically shaped fins, offset slightly to the airflow in order to spin the bomb as it dropped.
David flew his usual Lancaster (KC-N), which accommodated the Tallboy in its bombay, and had the latest deep-section bomb-doors which closed around the bomb and were also flush with the fuselage – except at the rear end, where they left a [inserted] small semi-circular [/inserted] gap around the bombs tail-fin. The rest of 617’s earlier Lancasters [inserted] in the “DV” or “JB” serial range [/inserted] had been similarly modified, or exchanged for newer aircraft with “ME” or “LM” serials. David’s crew – which had changed slightly over the last few months with postings, etc – consisted of → [inserted] Flying Officer G.A. Phillips (Flight Engineer), F/O J.K. Stott (Navigator), F/O D.W. Finlay (Bomb Aimer/Front Gunner) Warrant Officer H.G. Allen (Radio Operator), Flt. Sgt. H.D. Vaughan (Mid-upper gunner), and Flt. Lt. E.B. Chandler (Rear-gunner), [/inserted] [deleted] F.O. [inserted] D.W. [/inserted] Finlay, W.O. [inserted] H.G. [/inserted] Allen, Flt Sgt. [inserted] H.D. [/inserted] Vaughan, and Flt. Lt. E.B. Chandler, [/deleted] and everyone was looking forward to seeing what these new “Earthquake” bombs could accomplish.
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Cheshire marked the target in his Mosquito, as usual, dropping his markers by the light of the flares from four Lancasters of 83 Squadron above, and placing his Red Spots by the tunnel mouth at the Southern end. He was followed in by his other two Mosquitos (Shannon had had to return home with engine trouble, soon after take-off), and then he called up the 25 Lancasters of 617 that were circling above (this raid was a “maximum strength” affair)!
David’s bomb-aimer released their Tallboy at the → [inserted] end of his seventh run-in over the tunnel. On all the earlier 6 runs his bomb-aimer was unable to see the markers clearly at the tunnel’s South end. He waited for the North end to be marked – the secondary aiming point – and then bombed on the seventh run-in. His Tallboy fell away at the [/inserted] end of a careful, steady run-in, and – like the others – they were disappointed to see only a small red splash [inserted] of light [/inserted] below, as it buried itself deep in the ground – not the blinding, white flash that their 12,000 lb Blast bombs always made, lighting up the countryside. Because of this the 617 crews were a little doubtful whether the tunnel, or railway cutting had been hit properly, until “Recce” pictures [inserted] arrived] [/inserted] next day. These were remarkable. David had written in his log: “Operations – Railway Tunnel at Saumur. 12,000 lb Special. Poor shot, but tunnel badly damaged” [inserted] and his sortie had lasted exactly 6 hrs 20 mins [/inserted]. Which crater applied to which 617 crew was impossible to verify, but the aerial reconnaissance pictures showed all the huge round craters clustered around the Southern end to the tunnel. Two Tallboys had hit the railway lines fairly and squarely in the middle, on the tunnel approach (wrecking an overhead road bridge too), three had landed on the top edges of the cutting by the tunnel mouth, cascading earth onto the lines, but one (and to this day, nobody knows who dropped this) hit the hill above the tunnel some 50 [deleted] hundred [/deleted] yards from the tunnel mouth, and did just what Barnes Wallis had predicted – [deleted] buried itself in [/deleted] penetrated the ground right down by the tunnel roof, and blew an enormous crater in the hillside, exposing the tracks at the bottom and dumping thousands of tons of rubble on them. The 617 crews were greatly heartened by the result, and there had been no casualties.
The next Tallboy raid was on June 14th, and this time Cochrane had sought Barnes Wallis’ advice about using the weapon on German E-boat pens at coastal ports like Le Havre. These torpedo boats were proving a pest at night amongst the convoys of ships off the Normandy beach-head, and so the idea [inserted] was both [/inserted] of dropping the Tallboys to create “tidal waves” to swamp the E-boats
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in harbour.
The raid was Bomber Command’s first daylight raid since June 1943, and was to be a big one on the Port area of Le Havre. Two waves of Lancasters, from 1 and 3 Groups, were to attack in the evening, and at dusk (it was almost Midsummer’s day), but 617 were to go in first with Cheshire and two other marker Mosquitos, followed by 22 Lancasters each carrying the Tallboy bombs.
The 617 aircraft took off, with a fighter escort of Spitfires accompanying them, as it was still broad daylight over the target area. There was heavy flak over Le Havre, but Cheshire [deleted] Shannon and Fawke [/deleted] dived his Mosquitos right down into the thick of it, getting down to 7,000ft over the Pens, and dropped his Red Spot markers by the E-boar quayside Shannon, Fawke and the leading Lancasters who were watching, marvelled at the way Cheshire flew through a dense curtain of all types of A.A. fire, and survived.
Cheshire then told his other Mosquito pilots not to bother marking (as the first Spots he had laid were very visible), and told 617 to start to bomb on these. David’s Flight Commander, Les Munro, then led the Lancasters in at around 17,700 ft (several had already been hit in the engines and wings by flak, and turned back), and David and his crew [inserted] in LM 485 [/inserted] recorded a “Direct-Hit” with their Tallboy on the E-boat [deleted] Pens and [/deleted] wharves. All the 15 Tallboys dropped by 617 hit the target area (one went right through the roof of a large concrete E-Boat Pen), and the E-boats were literally blasted out of the water onto dry land, or blown apart. The post-raid photos showed 617 had wreaked immense damage in the Port area, and the subsequent two waves of 199 Lancasters in all, blitzed the rest of Le Havre, rendering the German Naval presence completely ineffective after that. Again, 617 had no losses.
With this success behind them, Cochrane sent them up again next day (June 15th 1944) to do the same at Boulogne. For these Tallboy operations, David always had a seven-man crew (rather than the old six-man complement), and he had now added a Sgt. King to his regulars. Still using [inserted] LM485 [/inserted] (KC-N), David was up with 21 other 617 Lancasters that evening. There was thick cloud over
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Boulogne this time, and Cheshire (his Mosquito heavily patched up from its ordeal by flak the previous day) dived down below the cloud to drop his markers from around 6,000 ft, once more in a hail of anti-aircraft gunfire. Although his Mosquito was hit several times he survived again, and his markers hit the E-Boat Pen area. He ordered the 617 Lancasters in, but as it was now dark and the cloud had thickened up at 13,000 ft, 10 of the crews could not see Cheshire’s markers below the overcast, and regretfully turned for home taking their precious Tallboys back (they had strict instructions never to waste them!). The remaining 12, however, (mostly more experienced, and leading crews) dived below the clouds, enduring the same barrage of flak that Cheshire had, and lined up over the Pens to drop their bombs. David was one of these, following Les Munro in, and himself followed by McCarthy, Kearns, Clayton, Howard, Poove, Knights, Stout, Hamilton and two others. Most of their aircraft were hit by flak, but David dropped his Tallboy from 8,000 ft, and recorded “Believed Good Shot”. His aircraft was hit by flak, and holed as well.
All the 617 crews got back to base (David was only airborne for 2 hrs 35 mins altogether – against 3 hrs 40 mins for the previous Le Havre raid), but several crew members of other aircraft were injured. Following 617 in to attack had been 133 other Lancasters and 130 Halifaxes, aided by 11 Mosquitos of 8 (PFF) Group, and these had bombed the rest of Boulogne. Only one Halifax [inserted] had been lost [/inserted], out of all the aircraft taking part, and in the two raids taken together, 617 had been largely responsible for the wrecking of some 133 German boats (mostly E-boats).
[Underlined] V2 sites. [/underlined]
The moment they had returned from the Boulogne raid, there was a lot of patching up of the aircraft to do. David’s KC-N was too badly holed to be quickly back in service, and so he was allocated another – DV 380, Wing. Cmdr. Cheshire’s original Lancaster (KC-N), but now re-coded KC-X.
The very morning they had returned from Boulogne, Cochrane had alerted Cheshire to get ready for a
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very important operation that evening (the 16th). Cheshire had only just got to bed but was told to get up again and attend an intelligence briefing right away. The V1 Flying Bombs had started dropping on London, and Intelligence sources had warned the War Cabinet of the imminent firing of two other secret weapons at London – the V2 rockets, and in the V3’s case, huge shells fired through incredibly long [inserted] “Super” [/inserted] gun barrels being built across the Channel in France (a forerunner of the Iraqi “Super”-guns of 1991). The concrete blockhouses hiding these weapons had to be attacked with Tallboys immediately, as the War Cabinet thought on the one hand they might have to order the evacuation of London, and on the other – if aimed at Portsmouth and Southampton, etc, they might interfere [inserted] with [/inserted] the invasion of France, and put it in jeopardy.
The result of all this was that [inserted] David and the other [/inserted] [deleted] the [/deleted] Squadron crews were aroused, and after briefing, stood by all day at their aircraft dispersals, waiting for the signal that the cloud cover over the target had cleared. The Lancasters were bombed-up, but then had to be unloaded, one by one on a rota, to avoid straining their undercarriages. Food was brought out to dispersals, but late in the evening the raid was cancelled – the cloud was still unbroken over the target. Not long after, they were stood-to again, and then stood-down, and so it went on over three days!. Eventually the crews were living in a detached state of limbo, with too little sleep and their metabolic clocks thoroughly upset.
Finally, on June 19th, the cloud cleared and they were off at last. The first target for 617 was a large concrete structure to the [inserted] West of [/inserted] Watten (North-west of St. Omer), on the edge of the Forêt d’Eperlecques. [Inserted] This was one of two large “Bunker” sites for launching V2’s, consisting of huge [inserted] semi- [/inserted] underground concrete bunkers, with large armoured doors. Both these sites were constructed to initially fire the vertical-standing V2 rockets at London, but they were intended later to launch V2’s with nuclear or chemical war-heads, directly as the USA. [/inserted] David took off from Woodhall Spa [inserted] in DV380 (KC-X) [/inserted], with 18 other Lancasters, and Cheshire and Shannon in their Mosquitos. As it was a daylight raid, they were escorted again by Spitfires, and Cheshire went down to 8,000ft over Calais, to find the target beyond the town. He was engaged by a terrific flak barrage, so dived flat out down to 2,000 ft, and released smoke markers (for daylight use) on the target.
* The remains of this structure, called “Blockhaus”, are kept today as a tourist museum.
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Having come through the barrage miraculously unscathed, Cheshire’s markers then failed to ignite, so Shannon then went in through a haze that was developing as the day wore on. He dropped the last of the smoke markers, and as Cheshire believed they were close enough to the blockhouse, ordered 617 to bomb it. David dropped his [inserted] Tallboy [/inserted] like the others, from 18,000 ft, but it “hung-up” momentarily, and recorded a near-miss on his aiming point – the smoke indicators. The rest dropped their weapons close to or on top of the markers, but when the raid was over and “Recce” pictures obtained, it was established that the markers had been some 70 yds wide of the target. Some Tallboys had dropped far enough away from the markers to fall beside (and one on top of) the concrete structure, and this proved sufficient to encourage the Germans not to use the site afterwards. * For some reason (perhaps connected with the repeated bombing-up and down over the three day wait) several Tallboys besides those on David’s Lancaster also “hung-up” – including those of Knilans, Ross and Howard (two of these were “freed”, but one had to be brought back).
Next day, the 20th, the second of these large “Bunker” sites, at Wizernes (just to the South-West of St. Omer) was given to 617, and this time 17 Lancasters set off, with Cheshire and two more Mosquitos in the lead David was still flying DV380, but he had only flown as far as Orfordness, near Woodbridge when Cheshire, in front of them, received information the cloud cover was too thick over the target, and recalled the Squadron (complete with Tallboys).
Two days later, they tried again, and reached the target area this time, but there was ten-tenths cloud over the area, and once more they brought [deleted] back [/deleted] the Tallboys back. Not to be outdone, 617 made a third attempt [inserted] the morning of [/inserted] June 24th, and this time the clouds had cleared. [Inserted] Again they had a fighter escort, [/inserted] and two Mosquitos led 16 Lancasters to the quarry in the North-facing hill near Wizernes station and Cheshire dived in to mark. His markers hung up, however, and he called Fawke in behind him. The flak was intense, and Fawke’s Mosquito and several 617 Lancasters above were hit, but David dropped his Tallboy from 17,400ft, recording a “Good Shot”. On the run in, John Edwards’ Lancaster DV413 (KC-G) was hit, and went
* After Allied troops had captured this site in Autumn 1944 → Barnes Wallis persuaded Bomber Command to let several Lancasters drop the new 22,000 lb Grand Slam bombs on this structure in mid November, to test their destructive force. [/inserted]
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down out of control, [inserted] some crew baling out on the way. [/inserted] The Lancaster exploded as it levelled out, [inserted] its pilot fighting [/inserted] desperately to effect a crash-landing, [deleted] in a field [/deleted], and the rest of the crew were trapped [deleted] out [/deleted] amongst the debris, or flung out onto the field where it pancaked. Only the Navigator, Wireless Operator and Bomb-aimer survived, to become POWs. The rest of the Squadron returned safely, albeit many of the aircraft had flak damage.
As David’s aircraft was also damaged, he promptly air-tested his old aircraft, LN485 (now itself repaired), the same afternoon (June 24th), and next day he was off [inserted] in it [/inserted] with 617 to attack a huge underground storage area for V1 Flying Bombs – at Siracourt, just South of the main road from St. Pol-sur-Ternoise to Hesdin (and East of Le Touquet). The Squadron put up 17 Lancasters, 2 Mosquitos – and a North American Mustang fighter flown by Cheshire.
Para // There was quite a story behind the acquisition of the Mustang, but suffice to say that the Station Commander at Woodhall Spa, together with Cheshire’s friendship with the American Air Force Generals Spaatz and Doolittle, resulted in their sending a Mustang over [inserted] on the morning of the 25th [/inserted] for Cheshire to try out. The 617 ground crews had to work hard to modify the under wing bomb attachments, to fit the necessary smoke markers and the Squadron navigator had to plot Cheshire’s courses for him, and help him jot down the information on his knee pad – for the Mustang was a single-seater. Cheshire had never flown one before, nor a single-engined aircraft for some time, and by the time it had been prepared he was adamant that he would use it on that evening’s raid. He also knew that he had no time to do “circuits and bumps” in it, to get to know its landing techniques – his first take-off would have to be on the operation, and his landing back would have to be in the dark!
As the Mustang was a fast aircraft, David and the other 16 Lancasters and two Mosquitos took off ahead of Cheshire, and by the time they arrived at Siracourt, their C.O. was there, diving in to mark the concrete roof of the underground site with smoke indicators, and followed in by Shannon and Fawke. Then the 617 “gaggle” was called in to drop their Tallboys on the smoke, and David recorded a “Direct Hit” [inserted] from 18,800ft [/inserted], together with some of the others, while other Tallboys fell close by. Someone’s bomb pierced the
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16 ft thick concrete roof of the structure, [inserted] resulting in a spectacular collapse of the walls and ceiling, and others undermined the sides. [/inserted]
Three hours and five minutes after take-off, David was back on the ground at his base, and all had returned safely, including Cheshire in the Mustang.
There were still more sites to attack, but bad weather and thick clouds prevented 617 Squadron from further attacks for some days. [Deleted] In the days [/deleted] During this period, David only managed to get in one practice “Formation flight” and an “Air Test” (involving air-to-sea firing practice). Several times they stood by from dawn [inserted] onwards [/inserted], but raids were cancelled by the late afternoon. The urgency was in everyone’s minds, as the V1’s were now landing in London and the South-East in increasing numbers.
Finally the weather cleared again for the morning of July 4th, and they were briefed to attack a new V1 launch site located in underground caves in the limestone hill overlooking the River Oise, at St. Leu-d’Esserent, a little village North-west of Chantilly. These caves had been used before the war by French mushroom-farmers, but were now reinforced with concrete to store the V1’s, and their launching rails. [Deleted] and the gigantic barrels of the V3 guns [/deleted]
David’s Squadron put up 17 Lancasters, Cheshire in the Mustang, and his back-up in a single Mosquito for this daylight raid. Fawke in the Mosquito went ahead to get weather information, and then Cheshire arrived, dived very low over the caves and dropped his smoke markers accurately on top. Les Munro led in the Lancasters above, through fairly heavy, [deleted] and [/deleted] accurate, flak which caught several aircraft, but the Tallboys started to rain down on the site. One hit the main building, others dropped in the cave mouths and around the entrances to the site, all destroying a great deal of machinery. Many Germans [deleted] workers [/deleted] were trapped underground and some were entombed forever. David [inserted] flying in LM484 again, [/inserted] described his Tallboy hit [inserted] from 18,700ft [/inserted] as a “Fair Shot”, obtaining a good photograph of this exploding near the cave mouth. Once the limestone dust and debris had started to hide the target, some Lancasters had difficulty finding the aiming point, one was hit in all four engines and had to jettison the [inserted] Tallboy [/inserted] over the Channel on the run home [inserted] and [/inserted] one had its bombsight go u/s. Thus only 11 out of the 17 dropped Tallboys on the target,
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but the results were once again spectacular – although in many of these Tallboy raids, these were only seen at first hand after the Allies had captured the area, later in 1944.
All 617 crews returned safely [inserted] David’s own sortie lasting 4hrs 05 mins this time [/inserted], although some had been injured by shrapnel from Flakbursts. [Deleted] but [/deleted] Bomber Command sent in another force of [inserted] 5 Group [/inserted] Lancasters later that same evening – totalling some 231, with 15 Mosquitos for marking. German night-fighters were very active, and shot down 13 of the Lancasters around the target area – a high price to pay.
[Underlined] Last “Op” with 617 – V3 Site. [/underlined]
Two days later, [inserted] on July 6th 1944 [/inserted], David took off on his last operation with 617 Squadron, this time another daylight raid on a V3 site at Mimoyecques, where several “super-guns” were being set up. Cheshire flew his Mustang again, with a Mosquito to back him up, and the usual “gaggle” of 17 617 Lancasters followed higher up (usually around the 18,00 ft level). The “gaggle” was so named by Cheshire, but referred to the pattern 617 was now adopting in its bombing formations – normally four parallel rows of Lancasters (four or five to a row), each of the leaders flying at carefully planned 200 ft or 300 ft vertical separation from each other, and behind each of them, every subsequent Lancaster flying [inserted] in turn [/inserted] at 400 ft lower than the one in front. Thus the “gaggle” had the best chance of avoiding each others bombs in the run-up to the targets, and had a better sighting of the target as it began to become obscured from the markers and first hits. Generally speaking, if the Lancasters adhered closely to this box formation (which was not always possible), the last aircraft’s Tallboys should have released before the first started to explode (they were frequently given delayed-action fuzes).
The V3 site at Mimoyecques was in the chalk hills behind Calais, and Cheshire once again went in very low and dropped his markers on top of the tunnels. The rest then dropped their Tallboys, and David’s went down on target [inserted] from 19,000 ft [/inserted], but the burst wasn’t seen by his crew. Then he flew LM 485 (KC-N) back to
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Woodhall Spa, joining the others who all arrived safely. “Recce” photos later showed the V3 site to have been hit and straddled by the Tallboys and completely wrecked, once more entombing some Germans.
[Inserted] Sub heading [underlined] Leaving 617 Squadron [/underlined] [/inserted]
After landing from this short flight (David had been airborne only 2 hrs 45 mins on this last occasion), [deleted] their C.O. [/deleted] Cheshire was summoned to Cochrane’s Group HQ. Cochrane looked at Cheshire, and said quietly to him: “I’ve been looking at the records, and see you’ve sone 100 trips now. That’s enough, it’s time you had a rest!” And he told Cheshire it was no use arguing! He also added that his three Flight Commanders, [inserted] Dave [/inserted] Shannon, [inserted] Joe [/inserted] McCarthy and [inserted] Les [/inserted] Munro had to come off as well, with David Wilson too. Mimoyecques had been David’s own 90th Operation [/deleted] as well [/deleted], and although the Flight Commanders had done fewer trips, they had [inserted] all [/inserted] been flying on “Ops” continuously for some two years.
So David was rested simultaneously with his CO and Flight Commanders. He had joined 617 in time for its seventh operation (and its first visit to the Anthéor viaduct) on September 16th 1943, and had been with the Squadron for over two months before Cheshire had arrived to take over from [inserted] Mick Martin [/inserted] the temporary C.O. When he joined there had been 10 of the original Dams raid pilots still flying in 617, but when he left, the last three – the Flight Commanders – left with him. It was the end of an era in 617, and David was very proud to have fought and lived alongside those famous names. As for himself, he has never really had the recognition that he deserved for his part in the 40 Operations mounted by 617 between September 16th 1943 and July 6th 1944, but this is no doubt because he was an inherently shy man – though a very tough one in his quiet [inserted] Scottish [/inserted] way.
With all of them being suddenly rested from 617, the 5 Group A.O.C. began to confer some long deserved awards on them. Cheshire had been given a second Bar to his DSO on April 18th 1944 (while with 617) and now, two months after leaving, he was awarded the Victoria Cross, for four years of continuous bravery (unique because it was not for one specific act of gallantry). Shannon was awarded a Bar to his DSO, and Munro was awarded a DSO (McCarthy had just been awarded a Bar [inserted] to his DFC. [/inserted] David was justly awarded a Bar to his DFC (gazetted on June 29th
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1944. This was [inserted] then [/inserted] followed up on November 26th 1944 by his second decoration with 617 – a DSO. (The delay in the award of the DSO was probably occasioned by the departure of Wing Cmdr Geoffrey Leonard Cheshire, VC, DSO and two Bars, DFC, M.I.D., and the arrival and settling-in of his successor at 617, Wing Cmdr J.B. (“Willie”) Tait, DSO and Bar, DFC, MID).
The citation for David Wilson’s Bar to his DFC read: “Since the award of his first DFC in May 943, this officer has completed a third tour of operational duty, during which his experience, determination and devotion to duty have been displayed in the course of many sorties As a captain of aircraft, he can always be relied upon to complete his tasks in the face of the heaviest enemy opposition. He has a long and distinguished record of operational flying.”
And when the DSO was gazetted on November 26th this citation said: “This officer has taken part in numerous missions over enemy territory, including attacks on Berlin, Hamburg, Bremen, Cologne and Mannheim. He is now in his 3rd Tour, and has completed many sorties demanding a high standard of skill and accuracy. He has proved himself to be an ideal leader and his example has been most inspiring.”
“. [sic]
It is interesting to look back on David’s three tours of operations to see the difference in training required by any pilot flying with 617, and the other squadrons. In his time with 214 Squadron (his first tour) David flew a total of 289 hrs 50 mins, of which 199 hrs 35 mins was on operations, and just 90 hrs 15 mins doing Squadron training and exercises, etc. In this case the training hours amounted to 31% of the total. With 196 Squadron, training hours (34hr 35mins out of a total of 135 hrs 40 mins) amounted to 25%. But in 617 Squadron, David’s training accounted for 239 hrs 45 mins out of 420 hrs 55 mins – or a massive 57% of his total time! For each operational hour flown, he had flown over an hour’s worth of practice – nearly all bomb-aiming. This just illustrates the degree to which Guy Gibson (who started it), followed by Mick Martin and Geoffrey Cheshire, had insisted on the very highest level of low and high-level bombing accuracy.
At the end of his third tour, David had flown 90 missions, lasting for a total of 481 hrs 50 mins, and trained for a further 364 hrs 35 mins in these squadrons.
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[Inserted] As for David’s Lancaster [deleted] that [/deleted] [inserted] in which [/inserted] he finished his days [deleted] in [/deleted] at 617 (LM485, KC-N), this aircraft survived a further V1 site attacks, two attacks on the German battleship Tirpitz in Norway (as KC-U), and further raids on Norway, etc, [deleted] in 1945, [/deleted] surviving the War to be scrapped in October, 1945. His other favourite, JB139 (KC-X, and later -V) was shot down over Brest on August 5th 1944, piloted by Don Cheney, R.C.A.F., who survived, with three of his crew (four were killed). The remains of the Lancaster can still be seen in the shallow water of St. Anne-la-Palud Bay, nearby. [/inserted]
[Underlined] Marriage, No5 L.F.S, and the E.T.P.S. [/underlined]
Now that David had obtained a welcome break from operations, he and Elsie were married on July 22nd 1944, and he snatched a quick two weeks leave before finally saying goodbye to 617 Squadron [inserted] at a mammoth farewell party [/inserted] on August 7th, and reporting to his new posting, No5 Lancaster Finishing School at Syerston, Notts, the next day.
David was now made [inserted] up to [/inserted] a Squadron Leader, and [deleted] at first [/deleted] put in charge of “B” Flight at 5 LFS. He was later [deleted] at Syerston until March 13th 1945, becoming [/deleted] appointed the Chief Flying Instructor of the whole School on October 4th, and remained its CFI until he ended his posting there on March 13th 1945. During this time he put many other budding Lancaster pilots through their paces on the School’s well worn (and operationally expired) Lancasters. They were mostly Flying Officers, but there were a few Warrant Officers, Pilot Officers and Flight Lieutenants, and the odd Squadron Leader converting onto the four-engined bombers.
David put all his pupils through the full training steps, which included “stalling practice”, “steep turns”, “three and two engine flying”, “three engine overshoots and landings”, apart from routine circuits and bumps, and night flying.
On several occasions he managed a trip in a Lancaster, or the unit’s Oxford “hack”, to visit 617 at Woodhall Spa, usually taking Sqd Ldr. Poore over as well (both of them had served with the Dambusters). And a number of the Lancasters David taught on at the LFS had once flown in 617 Squadron.
In March 1945, having come to the end of his
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Posting to the LFS, David applied to go on one of the Engine Test Pilot’s Courses at Boscombe Down. He was accepted on the No 3 Course there, and started the Course on March 15th 1945.
This was the third and last of the early Courses to be held at Boscombe Down, due mainly to the construction of hard runways on the aerodrome, leading to a veritable log-jam of aircraft taking off or landing on the restricted grass areas.
David’s Course lasted until October 2nd that year – a period of 6 1/2 months – and David was one of 31 test-pilots to complete it successfully. Amongst other subsequently famous names on the course with him were [inserted] Lt. [/inserted] Peter Twiss RN (to become Chief Test-Pilot for Fairey Aviation), [inserted] Sqd. Ldr. [/inserted] Charles McClure, who then took over from “Roly” Falk as Wing Cmdr. And Chief Test-Pilot at the R.A.E. at Farnborough, Flt. Lt. J.O. Lancaster who went to Boulton Paul, Saunders Roe, and finally Armstrong Whitworth; Ron Clear, from Airspeeds; and Lt. Cmdr. J.B.V. Burgerhorst, who went to Fokkers.
Five of the 31 on the Course were to lose their lives testing aircraft (the corresponding losses on the 1st Course were 5 out of 13, [deleted] and [/deleted] on the 2nd 7 out of 28, and the 4th, 7 out of 33). This eventual “loss” rate from the early courses was on average almost 23% , illustrating the high price paid in the lives of exceptionally brave and talented young men, by the advancement of Britain’s and other countries’, aviation industries.
As described in the chapters in these Volumes about Jimmy Owell, Ricky Esler and Jimmy Nelson, etc, the ETPS Course proceeded for David along the normal lines. The previous Commandant, Gp. Capt. J.F. McKenna [inserted] AFC [/inserted], had just been killed in a Mustang at the beginning of David’s Course, and his place was taken by Gp Capt. H.J. Wilson, AFC, who had been a senior test-pilot at the RAE. The Assistant Commandant was Wing Cmdr H.P. “Sandy” Powell, AFC, who also acted as the Chief Test-flying Instructor.
David flew the [inserted] range of [/inserted] ETPS aircraft, which at that time included an Oxford, Harvards, Lancaster
[Page break]
2/58 [sic]
Swordfish, Mosquitos, Tempest [inserted] I and II and V, [/inserted] Spitfire IX and XXI Boston, [deleted] Sptifire IX [/deleted], [inserted] and the [/inserted] Meteor I. The last machine was the first jet aircraft that David had flown, but it provided no undue problems for him.
By the beginning of October, David had passed the difficult classroom studies, and the flying examinations, with ease, and after qualification, he accepted a post as test-pilot in “B” Squadron ( [deleted] the [/deleted] multi-engine aircraft) at the A & AEE at Boscombe Down, to last until his demob on March 15th 1946.
At the A & AEE, he started flying there on January 10th 1946, and undertook some firing trials on a new Avro Lincoln, flew a Lancaster to measure “speed/power curves”, practiced bombing runs in a Mosquito VI, and carried out other tests on a Halifax III, Dakota, Warwick, etc. Then his Service career was over, and David was demobbed.
[Underlined] A Career at A.V. Roe & Co. [/underlined]
With his brilliant academic qualifications, his war-time record, and qualifications now as a test-pilot, David Wilson [inserted] now [/inserted] had a great deal to offer the world. He was immediately offered a job at RAF Cranwell, and in fact the College was very keen to employ him, but David had written to Sir Roy Dobson, Managing Director now of A.V. Roe & Co. Ltd. at Manchester, to seek a post there – not necessarily in the Flight Test Dept., but perhaps connected with the Design side.
Sir Roy offered David the post of “Manager – Aerodynamic Development and Testing”, and David promptly accepted, starting work at Woodford [inserted] on April 8th 1946 [/inserted] at a salary of £800 per annum, with the promise of an early rise to £900 p.a. He was now 29 years of age, and had a total of 1807 flying hours to his credit.
David’s new job was immediately very tied up with examination of the Tudor airliner designs – both the Mark I and Mark II that were on order for BOAC and BSAA. A considerable amount of aero-dynamic research was going on into the problems affecting these designs, and several establishments
[Page break]
3/59
Apart form Avro’s were engaged in a dramatic race to find the answers. The description of these problems can be found in the stories of Bill Thorn and Jimmy Orrell in these Volumes, but suffice to say that David and his Dept. were soon very busy liaising with Roy Chadwick, [deleted] the [/deleted] Avro’s Chief Designer (and from February 1947, their Technical Director), and the Test-pilots at Woodford to try to overcome the Tudor’s bad stalling characteristics, and excessive drag problems.
Once settled in at Woodford, David decided he had better keep his hand in at flying, and so [inserted] he had a medical on January 1st 1947, and [/inserted] took out a Civilian Flying Licence (No 24644) on March 26th 1947, not valid for flying Public Transport aircraft, but enough to cover him for test-flying at Woodford.
[Inserted] It was also early in 1947 before David and his wife were called to Buckingham Palace to receive the DSO he had won in 617 Squadron – so great had been the queue of people at the end of the War. As he was now a civilian, David had to receive the decoration in civilian clothes. [/inserted]
David was by now living at 3, Leith Rd, Sale, Cheshire, some miles from Woodford and closer to the Southern side of Manchester, and he and his wife Elsie now had a baby daughter, Carol. He was very satisfied with his work at Woodford, and he was starting to fly as Second pilot to Ken Cook and others, and rapidly getting the taste of flying back again. → [Inserted] For instance he went up with Ken on November 25th 1946 [inserted] and Reg Knight on November 27th [/inserted] in the Anson C.Mk XIX Series 2 VL 310, to conduct “Trailing Static Tests”[inserted] “Asymmetric and P.E.” tests. On December 1st he was flying with Reg Knight in Tudor I G-AGPF, doing tests at 25,000’. [/inserted] On December 30th and 31st he was up again with Ken in the Anson XII NL172 doing “Trimmer Setting” tests with the C of G fully forward and full aft, and “Single-engine” tests loaded up to 10,000 lbs weight.
In January 1947, David was flying with Ken again, doing “Trim” tests and “Loop swinging” on York MW322, checking “Stalling speeds” [inserted] and “P.E’s” [/inserted] on Avro XIX G-AGNI, and conducting “Pressurization and Heating” trials on the Tudor I G-AGRJ. And in May 1947 he was flying with Reg Knight in the Tudor I G-AGRI, Anson VM172 and Tudor IV G-AHNI, carrying out “stalls”, “stabilities”, “levels” and other aero-dynamic tests. [/inserted] And it was because of his flying ability, coupled with his interest in sampling the stalling characteristics of the new Tudor II, and observing the reaction of the [inserted] newly-shaped [/inserted] wool-tufted wing fillets fitted to it that he flew as Second-pilot with Bill Thorn on [inserted] that fateful [/inserted] August 23rd 1947. He was not originally → [inserted] scheduled to be the No 2 pilot on this flight as Bill had intended to take Reg Knight up with him. But Reg (see the next Chapter) had to go down to see his mother at Nuneaton, at very short notice, due to a dispute she was having over a new house. And Fate thus decreed that David would take his place. [/inserted]
So Bill Thorn and David Wilson taxied out in G-AGSU that sunny Saturday morning at a little after 10.50 (GMT), carrying Roy Chadwick (Avro’s Technical Director) and Stuart Davies (now the Chief Designer), with their Flight Engineer Eddie Talbot, and radio operator J. Webster. And soon after lift off on the main runway, Bill Thorn got into difficulties with Britain’s largest passenger aircraft (at that time), because of the aileron circuits being mistakenly reversed during work in the factory. The Tudor tilted right over onto
[Page break]
59a
[Insertions to previous page]
[Page break]
3/60
Its starboard wing, the tip touched the ground and the Tudor II sideslipped slowly into a field, crumpling the wing, sliding along the stubble on its belly, and then decelerating into a group of oak trees surrounding a deep pond. The trees broke up the fuselage and wings, and the long nose of the Tudor fractured, and dropped the cockpit end into the pond, drowning the two pilots. But for the presence of water, they would undoubtedly have survived.
Thus, David’s career with Avro’s came to a sudden halt, along with the great Chief Test-pilot sitting beside him, and the man in the back who had designed all these magnificent machines, - and the Lancaster bomber in which David had spent so much of an eventful wartime career, and survived because of its strength and performance. Certainly, if he had to die, he could not have died in the company of any greater men than these.
Roy Dobson, who should have been on the test flight himself, but had skipped it because he was called to his office for an urgent ‘phone call, tried to cope with the tragedy that afternoon from his office at Woodford. The relatives of the other occupants, dead or injured, were contacted by various means, but David’s wife Elsie was mistakenly overlooked for a time. With a young daughter to bring up, and a home to try to keep together, things looked bleak. But when Sir Roy realised how difficult things were, he went out of his way to do all he could for Elsie. He had Avro’s arrange to pay off the mortgage, [inserted] and [/inserted] and give her a monthly sum for quite some time. He sent presents for Carol from time to time, and used to bring them back for the little girl from his overseas trips.
Sir Roy was greatly affected by the accident, and genuinely grief-stricken over the deaths of his life-long friend and colleague, Roy Chadwick, and Bill Thorn and David Wilson. He advised Elsie Wilson to brief a good solicitor and sue A.V. Roe & Coe for damages, so that she could be awarded compensation, and although Elsie found this difficult, and at times could hardly understand what was going on, eventually she was awarded damages and these were held by the Court in 2 1/2 % War Loan on trust for her daughter, with the income being paid regularly.
[Page break]
3/61
In fact David’s daughter Carol was eventually offered a Dr. Barnes Wallis Scholarship, had her mother wanted to accept this (out of the two per year that the great aircraft and bombs designer had set up out of his own money). This could have entitled Carol to attend Christ’s Hospital (Girls School,) in Hertfordshire, but Elsie declined, in order to keep the family close together.
David was buried in Woodford Church, near Roy Chadwick and Bill Thorn, and where Sir Roy and Lady Dobson now also lie. The funeral was a very grand affair, attended by hundreds of colleagues of the crew from all walks of life, the Ministries, RAF and 617 Squadron, and other Aviation companies. Afterwards, Sir Roy said of David:
“He was a brilliant young man, and a technician of extraordinary aptitude and ability, who would soon have made his mark on the company. His loss is going to be most severely felt”.
And it was, no less than by his daughter Carol, who to this day remains devoted to the war hero father she scarcely remembers, and her mother Elsie, who has remarried, but still lives in Cheshire not many miles from Woodford, and under the flight path to Ringway Airport.
[Page break]
[Underlined] Appendix [/underlined] P1
[Underlined] Sqd. Ldr. David James Baikie Wilson, DSO, DFC & Bar [/underlined]
[Underlined] List of Operations (3 Tours) [/underlined]
[Underlined] With No 214 Sqd: [inserted] (Wellington IC). [/inserted] Target Bomb load make-up Total Bombs dropped [/underlined]
1941 July 9* Osnabrück. 1 x 4000 4,000
July 14* Bremen 3 x 500 + Incendiaries. 1,500 +
July 17* Cologne 1 x 4000 4,000
July 20* Rotterdam 1 x 1,000, 3 x 500, + Incendiaries 2,500 +
July 23* Mannheim 1 x 4000 4,000
July 25* Hamburg ? ?
Aug 12* Hanover ? ?
Aug 16* Duisburg ? ?
Aug 19* Kiel 6 x 500 3,000
Aug 22* Mannheim ? ?
Aug 27* Mannheim ? ?
Aug 31* Cologne 1 x 1000, 5 x 500 3,500
Sep 2* Frankfurt 1 x 4000. (Retd, engine trouble) –
Sep 7* Berlin ? ?
Sep 8* Kassel ? ?
Sep 11 Le Havre ? ?
Sep 15 Brest 1 x 1,000, 4 x 500, 1 x 250 3,250
Sep 17 Karlsruhe 1 x 1,000, 4 x 500 3,000
Sep 29 Hamburg 1 x 4,000 HCMI 4,000
Oct 3 Antwerp 1 x 1,000, 6 x 500, 1 x 250 4,250
Oct 10 Cologne 1 x 1,000, 5 x 500, 1 x 250 3,750
Oct 12 Bremen ? ?
Oct 13 Dusseldorf 1 x 1,000, 5 x 500, 1 x 250 3,750
Oct 21 Bremen 1 x 1,000, 5 x 500 3,500
Oct 23 Kiel 1 x 1,000, 3 x 500, 1 x 250 2,750
Oct 31 Bremen Bad Wx, retd with bombs. –
Nov 7 Berlin 6 x 500 (Bad Wx, Osnabruck bombed) 3,000
Nov 9 Hamburg 6 x 500, 1 x 250 3,250
Dec 23 Brest 6 x 500 3,000
Dec 27 Brest 6 x 500 3,000
1942 Jan 2 Brest ? ?
Jan 8 Brest ? (Bad Wx, bombs returned) –
Jan 11 Brest 6 x 500, 3,000
Jan 21 Bremen 1 x 4,000 4,000
Jan 26 Brest 6 x 500 3,000
Jan 28 Munster ? (Bad Wx, bombs returned) –
[Underlined] TOTAL = 36 MISSIONS Total hours with Squadron = 289:50 [/underlined]
[Underlined] Total hours on “Ops” = 199:35 [/underlined]
* Flying as Second-pilot on these raids (Rest as Captain).
[Page break]
[Underlined] Appendix [/underlined] P2
[Underlined] With No 196 Squadron. (Wellington X) [/underlined]
1943 Feb 7 Lorient 7 x 500 3,500
Feb 13 Lorient 3 x 500, 6 Containers 1,500 +
Feb 14 Cologne 3 x 500 6 Containers
Feb 17 x Emden ? Bad Wx. Bombs returned. –
Feb 26 Cologne 3 x 500, +Incendiaries (2 x 500 bombs hung up, returned) 500 +
Feb 28 St. Nazaire 3 x 500 + Incendiaries 1,500 +
Mar 3 Hamburg 3 x 500 + Incendiaries 1,500 +
Mar 5 Essen 1 x 4,000 4,000
Mar 12 Essen 3 x 500 + Incendiaries 1,500 +
Mar 26 Duisburg 3 x 500 + Incendiaries 1,500 +
Mar 29 Bochum 3 x 500 + Incendiaries 1,500 +
Apr 4 Kiel 1 x 4,000 4,000
May 4 Dortmund 2 x 500, 6 x SBC 1,000 +
May 12 Duisburg 1 x 4,000 4,000
May 13 Bochum 1 x 4,000 4,000
May 25 Düsseldorf 2 x 500, 7 x SBC 1,000 +
June 11 Düsseldorf ? ?
Jun 21 Krefeld ? ?
Jun 24 Wuppertal (Elberfeld) Incendiaries only. ?
Jul 3 Cologne Incendiaries only ?
[Underlined] Total = 20 Missions Total hours with Squadron = 135:40 [/underlined]
[Underlined] Total hours on “Ops” = 101:05 [/underlined]
[Underlined] With 617 Squadron. (Lancaster I and III) [/underlined]
1943 Sep 16 Antheor Viaduct. 1 x 4,000, 3 x 1,000 7,000
Nov 11 Antheor Viaduct. 1 x 12,000, HC 12,000
Dec 16 Flixecourt xx 1 x 12,000 HC 12,000
Dec 20 Liege 1 x 12,000 HC Bomb returned, raid abortive (due PFF) –
Dec 22 Abbeville-Amiens. xx 11 x 1,000. Bombs brought back (due PFF failure) –
1944 Jan 4 Pas de Calais (Flying Bomb Site) ? Bombs dropped 4 miles from target due PFF error ?
Jan 21 Hallencourt. xx 2 x 1,000, 13 x 500, 6 Flares. Only 1 x 1,000 and 7 x 500 dropped 4,500
Jan 25 Fréval (Pas de Calais) xx 2 x 1,000, 13 x 500 8,500
Feb 8 Limoges 12 x 1,000 12,000
Feb 12 Antheor Viaduct 1 x 12,000 12,000
x Daylight raid.
xx Flying bomb site. (V1 weapon).
[Page break]
[Underlined] Appendix [/underlined] P3
[Underlined] With 617 Sqd cont’d [/underlined]
1944 March 2 Albert All Incendiaries ?
March 4 St. Etienne. ? Bad Wx. Returned –
March 10 St. Etienne 11 x 1,000 11,000
March 15 Woippy (near Metz). 1 x 12,000. Bad Wx. Returned. –
March 16. Clermont Ferrand 1 x 12,000, 6 Flares 12,000
March 18 Bergerac 1 x 12,000 12,000
March 20 Angouleme 1 x 8,000, 1 x 1,000 9,000
March 23 Lyons 11 x 1,000 11,000
March 25 Lyons ? x 500, Incendiaries ?
March 29 Lyons 1 x 8,000. 1 x 1,000 9,000
Apr 10 St. Cyr. 1 x 8,000, 6 x 500 11,000
Apr 18 Juvisy 4 x 1,000, 4 x Red Spots 4,000
Apr 20 La Chapelle 12 x 1,000 12,000
Jun 5 D-Day decoy mission
Jun 8 Saumur Tunnel 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
Jun 14 Le Havre Pens 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
Jun 15 Boulogne Pens 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
Jun 19 Watten xx 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
Jun 20 Wizernes xx – Tallboy Raid recalled over Channel –
Jun 22 Wizernes xx Tallboy Bad Wx. Bomb brought back. –
Jun 24 Wizernes xx 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
Jun 25 Siracourt xx 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
July 4 St. Leu d’Esserent. Xx 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
July 6 Mimoyecques xx 1 x 12,000 Tallboy 12,000
[Underlined] Total – 34 Missions Total hours with Squadron = 420:55 [/underlined]
[Underlined Total hours on “Ops” = 181:10 [/underlined]
[Underlined] Grand total (3 tours) = 90 Operational Flights. [/underlined]
[Underlined] Grand total of flying hours with Squadrons = 846:25 [/underlined]
[Underlined] Grand total of flying hours on Operations = 481:50 [/underlined]
Dublin Core
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Title
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A bomber pilot’s journey through WWII
Description
An account of the resource
Biography of Squadron Leader David James Baikie Wilson, DSO, DFC and Bar (1917 - 1947). He flew operations as a pilot with 214, 196 and 617 Squadrons before becoming Head of Aerodynamic Development and Testing, and Test-Pilot at A V Roe & Co Ltd. He was killed 23 August 1947 in the Avro Tudor crash.
Creator
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Peter V Clegg
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Anne-Marie Watson
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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handwritten sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Personal research
Identifier
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BCleggPVWilsonDv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1944-04-05
1944-04-06
1944-06-05
1944-06-06
1944-06-08
1944-06-09
1944-06-14
1944-06-15
1944-06-16
1944-06-19
1944-06-20
1944-06-22
1944-06-24
1944-06-25
1944-07-04
1944-07-05
1944-07-06
1945
1946
1947-08-23
1944-04-18
1944-04-19
Conforms To
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Pending review
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
France
Germany
Great Britain
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Belgium--Antwerp
Belgium--Liège
England--Cheshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Suffolk
France--Albert
France--Angoulême
France--Bergerac
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
France--Brest
France--Clermont-Ferrand
France--Creil
France--Le Havre
France--Limoges
France--Lorient
France--Lyon
France--Mimoyecques
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer
France--Saint-Étienne (Loire)
France--Saint-Nazaire
France--Saint-Omer (Pas-de-Calais)
France--Saumur
France--Siracourt
France--Watten
France--Woippy
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Emden (Lower Saxony)
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
Germany--Wuppertal
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Osnabrück
France--Watten
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
11 OTU
1660 HCU
1668 HCU
196 Squadron
214 Squadron
5 Group
617 Squadron
8 Group
aircrew
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bombing
bombing of the Boulogne E-boats (15/16 June 1944)
bombing of the Creil/St Leu d’Esserent V-1 storage areas (4/5 July 1944)
bombing of the Juvisy, Noisy-le-Sec and Le Bourget railways (18/19 April 1944)
bombing of the Le Havre E-boat pens (14/15 June 1944)
bombing of the Mimoyecques V-3 site (6 July 1944)
Bombing of the Saumur tunnel (8/9 June 1944)
bombing of the Siracourt V-weapon site (25 June 1944)
bombing of the Watten V-2 site (19 June 1944)
bombing of the Wizernes V-2 site (20, 22, 24 June 1944)
bombing of Toulouse (5/6 April 1944)
Boston
C-47
Chadwick, Roy (1893-1947)
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
final resting place
Flying Training School
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
Grand Slam
grief
H2S
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lincoln
Meteor
Mosquito
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Normandy deception operations (5/6 June 1944)
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
P-51
Pathfinders
pilot
promotion
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Boscombe Down
RAF Church Lawford
RAF Coningsby
RAF Cranage
RAF Cranwell
RAF Driffield
RAF Leconfield
RAF Stradishall
RAF Swinderby
RAF Syerston
RAF Upavon
RAF Wainfleet
RAF Woodhall Spa
Spitfire
Stirling
Tallboy
Tiger Moth
training
V-1
V-2
V-3
V-weapon
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/22536/MCurnockRM1815605-171114-011.2.pdf
74fa5e15c5e7788b9a6f73056580fbd3
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Curnock, Richard
Richard Murdock Curnock
R M Curnock
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Curnock, RM
Date
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2016-04-18
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
92 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock (1924, 1915605 Royal Air Force), his log book, letters, photographs and prisoner of war magazines. He flew operations with 425 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Richard Curnock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Kriegie March 2010
Description
An account of the resource
The news-sheet of the RAF ex-POW Association. This edition covers refurbishing the memorial to "The Fifty" and the construction of a replica hut 104 at Zagan., the 65th anniversary of the Great Escape, the Royal Windsor Tattoo, a POW day at High Wycombe, photographs of the memorial at Zagan, the annual dinner at RAF Henlow, Recco Report ofg ex-POWs activities, Obituaries, Book Reviews, changes to the membership directory, and newspaper cuttings about Air Cadets on parade.
Creator
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The RAF ex-POW Association
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2010-03
Format
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21 printed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Identifier
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MCurnockRM1815605-171114-011
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Royal New Zealand Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Berlin
Great Britain
England--High Wycombe
England--London
Germany--Sylt
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Kiel
Poland--Żagań
Germany--Helgoland
England--Windsor (Windsor and Maidenhead)
Poland
Germany
England--Berkshire
England--Buckinghamshire
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
10 Squadron
144 Squadron
57 Squadron
77 Squadron
aircrew
Blenheim
Distinguished Service Order
Dulag Luft
escaping
evading
flight engineer
Hampden
Hurricane
Ju 88
Lancaster
Me 109
memorial
Military Cross
mine laying
navigator
prisoner of war
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Coningsby
RAF Cranwell
RAF Dishforth
RAF Halton
RAF Hemswell
RAF Hendon
RAF Henlow
RAF North Coates
RAF North Luffenham
RAF Northolt
Special Operations Executive
Stalag Luft 1
Stalag Luft 3
Stalag Luft 6
Stalag Luft 7
the long march
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/939/25664/LMackieGA855966v1.2.pdf
fcf6fb7f9ed67b82fbba69f08697fa3d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Mackie, George
George Alexander Mackie
G A Mackie
Description
An account of the resource
Nine items. An oral history interview with George Mackie (1920 - 2020, 855966 Royal Air Force) with his log books, diary extract, list of operations, battle order and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 15 and 214 Squadrons.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-12-22
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Mackie, GA
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
George Alexander Mackie’s pilots flying log book. One
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book one, for George Alexander Mackie, covering the period from 17 September 1940 to 30 September 1942. Detailing his flying training, operations flown and instructor duties. He was stationed at RAF Meir, RAF Cranfield, RAF Bassingbourne, RAF Wyton, RAF Waterbeach and RAF Castle Combe. Aircraft flown were Magister, Master, Oxford, Wellington, Anson, Stirling, Tiger Moth, Heinkel 111 and Lancaster. He flew a total of 22 operations, 2 daylight and 15 night operations with 15 Squadron and 5 night operations with 1651 Conversion Unit. Targets were Lille, Frankfurt, Arques, La Rochelle, Berlin, Mannheim, Stettin, Nuremberg, Brest, Pilsen, Kiel, Dusseldorf, Emdem, Hamburg, Cologne, Cape de Antifer and Bremen. He flew as a second pilot on operations with Pilot Officer Jones. The log book also contains photos of aircraft, crews and sketches.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LMackieGA855966v1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Czech Republic
France
Germany
Great Britain
Poland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Czech Republic--Plzeň
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Staffordshire
England--Wiltshire
France--Arques (Pas-de-Calais)
France--Brest
France--La Rochelle
France--Lille
France--Normandy
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Emden (Lower Saxony)
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Nuremberg
Poland--Szczecin
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941-07-06
1941-07-07
1941-07-08
1941-07-12
1941-07-23
1941-07-25
1941-07-26
1941-08-25
1941-08-26
1941-09-19
1941-09-20
1941-10-12
1941-10-13
1941-10-24
1941-10-25
1941-10-28
1941-10-29
1941-10-30
1941-10-31
1941-11-01
1941-11-02
1941-11-15
1941-11-16
1941-11-25
1941-11-26
1941-11-27
1941-11-28
1942-01-10
1942-01-11
1942-01-14
1942-01-15
1942-05-30
1942-05-31
1942-06-01
1942-06-02
1942-06-22
1942-06-23
1942-07-28
1942-07-29
1942-09-14
1942-09-15
1942-09-16
1942-09-17
11 OTU
15 Squadron
1651 HCU
aircrew
Anson
arts and crafts
bombing
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
crash
Flying Training School
He 111
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
love and romance
Magister
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Castle Combe
RAF Cranfield
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Wyton
Stirling
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/530/25990/MShawSR3002545-160211-15.2.jpg
64233735a3dc7bb38205a8314df55045
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Shaw, Stanley R
S R Shaw
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Shaw, SR
Description
An account of the resource
37 items. An oral history interview with Stanley Shaw (3002545 Royal Air Force) Photographs, documents and his log book. He served with a Repair and Salvage Unit and attended many crashes. He later served in North Africa and the Middle East.
The collection also contains two photograph albums; one of his RAF service and one of his time in a cycle club.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Stanley Shaw and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-01-14
2016-02-11
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Aircraft Recovered by No 9 Party, 54 MU
Description
An account of the resource
A list of 29 aircraft recovered during 1944-45 by No 9 Party, 54 Maintenance Unit.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Stan Shaw
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One handwritten list
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MShawSR3002545-160211-15
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Norfolk
England--Suffolk
England--Wiltshire
England--Thurleigh
England--Ely
England--Felixstowe
England--Desborough
England--Northamptonshire
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
B-17
B-24
B-25
Battle
C-47
Halifax
Lancaster
Mosquito
P-51
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Bourn
RAF Castle Combe
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Desborough
RAF Duxford
RAF Felixstowe
RAF Gransden Lodge
RAF Graveley
RAF Henlow
RAF Hethel
RAF Kimbolton
RAF Martlesham Heath
RAF Mepal
RAF Oakington
RAF Podington
RAF Stradishall
RAF Sutton Bridge
RAF Swannington
RAF Swanton Morley
RAF Tempsford
RAF Upwood
RAF Warboys
RAF Watton
RAF Woodbridge
RAF Wratting Common
Stirling
Walrus
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1576/26030/MDentonDH1256316-200114-020001.2.jpg
66edc96b4f55b754070d50ecf2aa89dc
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1576/26030/MDentonDH1256316-200114-020002.2.jpg
7a45273a7f148818151d131f4128bc5e
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Denton, Dennis Hugh
D H Denton
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2020-01-14
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Denton, DH
Description
An account of the resource
59 items. The collection concerns Dennis Hugh Denton (b. 1920, 1256316 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents, album and photographs. He flew 62 daylight operations with 21 and 226 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Angela Sadler and Pamela Hickson and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[inserted] OBITUARY TO WING COMMANDER DENNIS. [/inserted]
[underlined] GROUP CAPTAIN D F DENNIS DSO DFC AND BAR AFC RAF (RET’D)
behind the sad announcement of the death of Group Captain Dennis there is a life of sservice [sic] and dedication to the Royal Air Force which should not go unrecorded, because his contribution ia [sic] at the heart of the traditions of our great service.
Born in 1915 Group Captain Dennis joined the RAFVR in 1937 and in 1938 started flying training at Hamble on Avro Cadet aircraft. After a number of training courses, on Hind, hart, Audas and Anson, at the outbreak of war, he joined no 21 (B) Squadron in 1940 flying Blenheims and his first operational sortie was attacking targets in the Amsterdam area in January 1941. There then followed night operations to Cologne, hanover [sic] and Wilhelmahaer, writing book comments ‘Caught in many searchlights, heavy flak – 3 runs at 1200 ft, gunned aerodrome, turret hit’. April saw a switch to successful anti shipping strikes and in May 1941 on a detachment to Malta – 14 hours each way via Gibraltar – successful anti shipping strikes were exectued [sic] hitting one destroyer and sinking two 5000 ton freighters. After 30 operational flights, a ‘rest tour’ at the Blenheim OCU at Bicester proved almost as hairy as the operational flying and having trained a considerable number of pilots to fly Blenhiems [sic] he returned in July 1942 to 21 (B) Squadron for a second tour, this time on Lockheed Ventura I’s. By September 1943 having completed 34 operational sorties, he returned to the Bicester OCU as Cheif [sic] Instructor this time on B25 Mitchells.
The build up to D-Day was in progress when the then Squadron Leader Dennis rejoined 21 (B) Squadron on Mosquito’s, as Flight Commander after 3 days coversion [sic] was on the first night operational sortie of his third tour. In two months he carried out over 30 operational sorties, day, low levl, [sic] and night interdiction, and became the CO of the Squadron. On the night of the 29th july [sic] 1944 having carried out an interdiction sortie in Southern Germany, with his navigator Flying Officer Grantham, his Mosquito, was hit by flak which put one engine out of action, the propeller would not feather and only by maintaining full power on the other engine could he sustain flight, albeit in a slight descent. Arriving in darkness at the recently recaptured area around Caen in northen [sic] France he found an emergency landing strip put the aircraft down without injury to himself or the navigator but the aircraft was a write off. the [sic] next night he was back at Thorney Island carrying out night flying training and at that time it was not unusual to carry out two X 2 hour 30 min operational sorties in one night. In October 1944 he handed over 21 (B) Sqn and joined 2 Group for a ‘Staff Job’ having completed 3 operational tours with a total of 105 operational sorties. So ended his war – he had been the proud reciepient [sic] of the Distinguished Service order and two Distinguished Flying Crosses, the citations for which are given below.
Having completed a Flying Instructors course and the Day Fighter Leaders Course he became the CO of the No 111 Squadron flying Spitfires in the Middle East and was CO of RAF Udine in Northern Italy in 1947. After staff appointments at Group and Air Ministery [sic] level he became Station Commander and Wing Leader at RAF Honily – those were the days of Vampire wings and he flew on just about every flyable day. After completing No 8 RAF Flying College Course at Manby, Wing Commander Dennis joined A & AFE Boscombe Down in 1957 flying mainly Swift, hunter, Javelin and Gnat aircraft, and it was whilst carrying out spinning trails [sic] that failure to recover from a spin resulted in a Martin baker let down from less than 4000 ft. In recognition of his sterling work at Boscombe Down he was awarded the Air Force Cross.
As a Group Captain he served at 13 Gp HQ, was Station Commander at RAF Basingbourne and was Air Task Force Commander bruei. [sic] His son John became a RAF pilot but was tragically killed in a Canberra flying accident in 1973.
Group Captain Dennis’s life was a life of service to the Royal Air Force and his country – he will be sadly missed and well remembered for his determination, kindness, compassion and ‘the human touch’.
R.I.P
[page break]
[underlined] EXTRACT FROM LONDON GAZETTE DATED 10th June 1941 [/underlined]
The King has graciously pleased to approve the following awards in recognition of gallantry and devotion to duty in the execution of air operations:
[underlined] Distinguished Flying Cross [/underlined]
[underlined] Pilot Officer David Foster Dennis (64274) Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve [/underlined]
[underlined] No 21 Squadron [/underlined]
This officer has displayed great skill and daring in attacks against enemy merchant ships and escorting vessels. In May 1941, he attacked a merchant vessel of about 5000 tons, obtaining hits which caused the ship to founder. The next day he attacked and secured hits on an enemy destroyer ship. A few days later he executed an attack against a merchant ship in convoy and as a result of his bombing, the ship took a list to starboard emitting much black smoke. On these occasions, Pilot Officer Dennis showed the greatest determination.
[underlined] EXTRACT FROM LONDON GAZETTE DATED 18th MAY 1943 [/underlined]
The king has been graciously pleased to approve the following awards in recognition of gallantry and devotion to duty in the execution of air operations:
[underlined] Distinguished Service Order [/underlined]
[underlined] Acting Flight Lieutenant David Foster Dennis, DFC (64274) Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve No 21 Squadron [/underlined]
This officer has participated in 53 Sorties invariably displaying exceptional skill and determination. One afternoon in April 1943, he flew the heading aircraft of a bomber formation detailed to attack railway installations at Abbeville. During the operation much fighter opposition was encountered and his formation was subjected to simultaneous attack from the rear and ahead. In the engagement, Flight Lieutenant Dennis displayed inspiring leadership, proving a tower of strength. By his personal example and sterling qualities, this officer has contributed materially to the high standard of morale and efficiency of the squadron.
[underlined] EXTRACT FROM LONDON GAZETTE DATED 27th OCTOBER 1944 [/underlined]
The King has graciously pleased to approve the following awards in recognition of gallantry and devotion to duty in the execution of air operations:
[underlined] Bar to Distinguished Flying Cross [/underlined]
[underlined] Acting Wing Commander David Foster Dennis, DSO DFC (64274) RAFVR 21 Sqn [/underlined]
Wing Commander Dennis has commanded his squadron with marked success. One night in August, he was detailed for a particulary [sic] hazardous attack on a transporter bridge across the Seine. the [sic] enemy defences in the area were extremly [sic] heavy. Disregarding the opposition he led his aircraft in to the attack scoring hits with his bombs. Wing Commander Dennis has completed very many sorties including numerous night attacks. His leadership initiative and courage have been of high order
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Obituary to Wing Commander Dennis
Description
An account of the resource
Two typewritten pages, one is an obituary for Group Captain DF Dennis DSO, DFC and bar, AFC, RAF (Retd), the other are the extracts from the London Gazette reporting the award of his DFC, DSO and Bar to DFC.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two typewritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MDentonDH1256316-200114-020001, MDentonDH1256316-200114-020002
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
21 Squadron
B-25
Blenheim
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
Mosquito
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Bicester
Spitfire
Ventura
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1172/26601/LSouthwellBR402261v1.1.pdf
a2c03b7c6160c890aef8c60668774910
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Southwell, Brian Robert
B R Southwell
Description
An account of the resource
17 items. An oral history interview with Brian Robert Southwell (b. 1916, 402261 Royal Australian Air Force), his log books, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 148 and 178 Squadrons.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-09-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Southwell, BR
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Brian Southwell's log book. One
Description
An account of the resource
Pilot’s flying log book covering the period from 21 October 1940 to 7 June 1943. Detailing his flying training and operations flown as pilot. He was stationed at RAAF Mascot (4 EFTS), RAAF Amberley (3 SFTS), RAF Bassingbourn/Steeple Morden (11 OTU), RAF Harwell (15 OTU), RAF Portreath (1 0ADU), RAF Gibraltar (1 OADU), RAF Luqa (1 OADU), RAF Burn (1653 Flight), RAF Lyneham (1445 Flight), RAF Gibraltar, RAF Aqir (159 Squadron), RAF Shandur (159, 178 Squadrons and Special Liberator Flight), RAF Gambut (Special Liberator Flight), RAF Derna (148 Squadron), thence Egypt, Sudan, Nigeria, Portugal to UK, RAF Lichfield (27 OTU). Aircraft flown in were Tiger Moth, Anson, Wellington and Liberator. Targets were Benghazi, Tobruk, shipping strikes, Maleme, Tunis and Tripoli. He flew a total of 22 operations with 159 and 148 Squadrons. His first or second pilots on operations were Flight Lieutenant Willatt, Wing Commander MacNair, Sergeant Carrigan, Flight Sergeant Russell and Warrant Officer Carter.<br /><br /><span>This item was sent to the IBCC Digital Archive already in digital form: no better quality copies are available.</span>
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Terry Hancock
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LSouthwellBR402261v1
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1942
1943
1942-09-22
1942-09-23
1942-09-25
1942-09-26
1942-10-01
1942-10-11
1942-10-16
1942-10-21
1942-10-22
1942-10-25
1942-10-27
1942-10-28
1942-10-29
1942-10-30
1942-10-31
1942-11-01
1942-11-04
1942-11-05
1943-01-06
1943-01-10
1943-01-11
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
North Africa
Egypt
Sudan
Nigeria
Portugal
Gibraltar
Greece
Libya
Tunisia
Greece--Maleme
Libya--Banghāzī
Libya--Tobruk
Libya--Tripoli
Tunisia--Tunis
Mediterranean Sea
11 OTU
148 Squadron
15 OTU
1653 HCU
23 OTU
27 OTU
aircrew
Anson
B-24
Flying Training School
Heavy Conversion Unit
Operational Training Unit
pilot
RAF Aqir
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Burn
RAF Harwell
RAF Lichfield
RAF Lyneham
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1525/27442/SNewtonJL742570v10070.1.jpg
1c81c3c3f3fb67f8915aed37b256667d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Newton, Jack Lamport
J L Newton
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-07-15
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Newton, JL
Description
An account of the resource
83 items. Collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Jack Newton (742570 Royal Air Force) who was a Sergeant air gunner on Wellington of 12 Squadron. His aircraft was landed on fire at a German occupied airfield in Antwerp in August 1941. He was the first airman to escape back to England via the Comète escape line. The rest of his crew were captured and made prisoners of war. The collection contains accounts of his escape, letters of research from Belgium helper, other official correspondence from the Red Cross and the Royal Air Force, photographs of places and people, newspaper cuttings propaganda leaflets and maps of airfield and escape route. In addition there is an interview with Jack Newton about his experiences in the wartime RAF.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Jackie Bradford and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
No. 108 Squadron,
Royal Air Force,
[underlined] Middle East. [/underlined]
D0/1101/33/P.2.
6th August, 1942.
Dear F. Sgt Newton,
Thank you very much for your letter dated 17th April, 1942. I really must congratulate you on your escape and I only wish I could see you to hear first-hand details of what is probably a most interesting story.
I have written in the enclosed envelope to Wing Commander Gillman a short letter of recommendation in respect off your prospective commission and have, as you see, addressed it so that in the event of you having been posted, or at any rate, in the event of you having a new commanding officer by the time you receive this letter, you can still avail yourself of it.
I expect you will be having a fairly easy time of things these days, which is more than can be said of what the chaps are doing out here, where we are pretty well as much occupied one way or another as they were in the Battle of Britain.
Yours Sincerely
[signature]
742570 F/Sgt. J. Newton,
R.A.F. Station,
Bassingbourne,
Near Royston, Herts.
[underlined] ENGLAND [/underlined]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Letter to Jack Newton
Description
An account of the resource
Thanks him for letter and congratulates him on his escape. Encloses a letter of recommendation for Jack's commission. Mentions that he is very busy in the Middle East.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-08-06
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One page handwritten letter
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Correspondence
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SNewtonJL742570v10070
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Hertfordshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-08-06
1942-04-17
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
108 Squadron
escaping
evading
RAF Bassingbourn
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1548/30377/LPrickettTO40427v3.2.pdf
956cd69f3452f8d8a29e9d3b89c7c928
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Prickett, Thomas Other
T O Prickett
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-11
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Prickett, TO
Description
An account of the resource
13 items. The collection concerns Air Chief Marshal Sir Thomas Prickett KCB, DSO, DFC (1913 -2010, 40427 Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, documents and photographs. He served in the RAF from 1937 to 1970 and flew operations as a pilot with 148 and 103 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Lady Prickett and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Access Rights
Information about who can access the resource or an indication of its security status. Access Rights may include information regarding access or restrictions based on privacy, security, or other policies.
Permission granted for commercial projects
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Thomas Other Prickett’s pilots flying log book. Three
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book, three, for Thomas Other Prickett, covering the period from 21 June 1944 to 2 November 1966. Detailing his flying training, instructor duties, staff duties with the RAF Delegation to the USA, Empire Central Flying School, Middle East Air Force and second tactical Air Force. He was stationed at Washington, Clewiston, RAF Hullavington, RAF Tangmere, RAF Ismailia, RAF Jever, RAF Bassingbourn, RAF Finningley and RAF Akrotiri. Aircraft flown in were C-45, PT-17, AT-6a, P-47, AT-7, Oxford, Harvard, Reliant, Spitfire, Mosquito, Tiger Moth, Rhone Buzzard, Wellington, Lancaster, Master, Hotspur, B-25 Mitchell, Meteor, Anson, Auster, Dominie, Proctor, Vampire, Devon, Valetta, Lincoln, Pembroke, Sabre, Prentice, Hunter, Chipmunk, Canberra, Vulcan, Argosy, and Hastings.
Creator
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Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Mike Connock
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LPrickettTO40427v3
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Cyprus
Egypt
Great Britain
United States
Egypt--Ismailia (Province)
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
Florida--Clewiston
Germany--Jever
North Africa
England--Sussex
Florida
Germany
Washington (D.C.)
Cyprus--Sovereign Base Areas of Akrotiri and Dhekelia
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
5 BFTS
aircrew
Anson
B-25
British Flying Training School Program
Dominie
Flying Training School
Harvard
Lancaster
Lincoln
Meteor
Mosquito
Oxford
P-47
pilot
Proctor
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Finningley
RAF Hullavington
RAF Tangmere
Spitfire
Stearman
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30990/BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1-01.1.pdf
8262794404d2ef0dfee19a3f5bd97a8e
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30990/BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1-02.2.pdf
7e6e96679a1915a0c9b98fb636e9cf11
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Yeoman, Harold
Harold Yeoman
Harold T Yeoman
H T Yeoman
Description
An account of the resource
31 items. Collection concerns Harold Yeoman (b. 1921 1059846 and 104405 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a pilot with 12 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, a memoir, pilot's flying log book, 26 poems, a photograph and details of trail of Malayan collaborator.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Christopher E. Potts and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-28
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Yeoman, HT
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Start of transcription
[underlined] LOOSE ON THE WIND [/underlined]
Harold Yeoman
[page break]
To those who never came back.
[page break]
Their voices, dying as they fly,
Loose on the wind are sown;
The names of men blow soundless by,
My fellows’ and my own.
A.E. Houseman,
“A Shropshire Lad”, XXXVIII.
“And how can a life be loved that hath so may embitterments, [sic] and is subject to so many calamities and miseries? How too can it be called a life, that begetteth [sic] so many deaths and plagues?”
Thomas a Kempis,
“The Imitation of Christ”.
[page break]
[underlined] LOOSE ON THE WIND [/underlined]
Author’s foreword
Never no more
We would never fly like that
Lennie
It makes you think
‘Yes, my darling daughter’
Crewing-up
Images of mortality
Tony
Mind you don’t scratch the paint
Rabbie
Letter home
Low-level
A boxful of broken china
The end of Harry
Silver spoon boy
Intermezzo
Overshoot
First solo
The pepper pot
Approach and landing
Knight’s move
A different kind of love
Sun on a chequered tea-cosy
Photograph in a book
Glossary
[page break]
[underlined] AUTHOR’S FOREWORD [/underlined]
During the years of the Second World War, some 90,000 men, from the British Isles, from the great Dominions overseas and from the countries of Europe overrun by the German enemy, volunteered as aircrew in Bomber Command of the Royal Air Force. Of these men, over 55,000 were to lose their lives and, to this day, more than 20,000 of that total have no known graves. In one particular operation there were more Bomber Command aircrew killed than there were casualties during the entire Battle of Britain.
There were many men whose names will bear for ever an aura of unfading brilliance, men such as Leonard Cheshire, (whom for a brief time I was privileged to know) such as Guy Gibson, or John Searby. There were also the thousands who could not aspire to the greatness of those remarkable men, to their almost unbelievable heights of courage and achievement. To attempt to assess what we in Bomber Command did achieve is no part of my aim. Much greater minds and more highly skilled pens than mine have already done this. This small piece of writing is solely an attempt, through the window of personal recollection, to tell of a few of the incidents which affected me and of a few of the splendid young men whom I was fortunate enough to know and to call my friends. Many, all too many of them, alas, gave their lives as part of the price of our freedom, the freedom from an unspeakable tyranny, that freedom which we now so casually enjoy and take so easily for granted. If, in this small book, I have planted their names like seeds in the garden of future years for even a few eyes other than my own to read, for a few other minds to remember, then I shall have done what I set out to do.
An eminent air historian has recently quoted some words which I wrote to him, words which I now venture to repeat. I said, “We simply had our jobs to do and we tried to do them as best we could.” I believe that sums it up.
Harold Yeoman
November 1994
[page break]
[inserted] [underlined] Never no more [/underlined] [/inserted]
“….. And through the glasse [sic] wyndow [sic]
Shines the sone. [sic]
How should I love, and I so young? …..”
(Anon.)
[page break]
[underlined] NEVER NO MORE [/underlined]
There was something icy cold running down my face and a brilliant light was shining into my eyes.
“What on earth?” I heard myself mutter.
I came to rapidly out of a deep sleep and tried to wriggle away from the cold wetness which was finding its way down my pyjama collar, but I could not escape it, nor the blinding glare.
“What’s going on?” I half-shouted, then I saw her hand holding the dripping sponge. Bright sunshine was pouring through my window that winter morning.
A pale, laughing face framed in jet-black hair behind the hand. She was sitting on the side of my bed.
“Betty!” I shouted, “Stop it! What the heck are you doing?”
“Saturday,” she answered brightly, twisting the sponge away from my hand, “Saturday, and it’s your day off. We were going for a walk, do you remember?”
Her dark, lustrous eyes shone with mischief. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my pyjama jacket and shuddered with the cold. I tried to pull the blankets back around me, but she pulled them firmly down again to chest level. What on earth would my parents think, I wondered, a young girl coming into my bedroom – they’d have a fit. It was almost too much for them when I’d insisted on volunteering for aircrew when I was nineteen, but this - !
“I’ve brought you a cup of tea; now hurry up and drink it, ‘cos it’s breakfast time.”
Betty got off the bed, handed me the cup and made for the door.
“Don’t be long now, and if you don’t take me for that walk, I’ll never speak to you again, never no more.”
“What, never, never no more?” I mimicked.
“No, never no more.”
She grinned, but pretended to be in a huff and flounced out, tossing her shiny black hair which gleamed like coal in the morning sunlight. It became a silly, affectionate catch-phrase between us.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
We had arrived at the Knight’s home at almost the same time; Betty from Coventry, after the air-raid, I from Initial Training Wing, to start my flying training at Sywell, a few miles from the centre of Northampton. We had seen the bombing from a safe distance, out of the train windows, on the way up from our I.T.W. at Torquay overnight. We had stopped, miles from anywhere, for hours, it seemed, while the raid progressed. We could hear the Jerries droning overhead and saw the fire on the horizon.
“Someone’s getting a hell of a pasting,” we had said.
Betty, then, was a refugee. Near misses from H.E.s had decided her parents to evacuate her from the shattered and blazing city to the safer home of her aunt and uncle; the R.A.F. billeting authorities had decided to send me to the Knights at the same time. So we quickly became friends; we were both of an age and of similar dispositions, light-hearted, fun-loving, undemanding and contented by nature. Two of a kind, I thought.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We walked in Abington Park. It was brilliantly sunny but bitterly cold, a wonderful December day. There was snow on the ground, the bare trees were black and stark against the clear winter sky. With my white u/t pilot’s flash in the front of my forage cap I swaggered a little. Why not? I was very proud of it. My buttons gleamed, my boots shone like glass.
“Bags of swank!” our drill Corporal used to shout at us as we marched through Torquay, and we obeyed that command, always. I was proud of myself and I was proud to be walking out with Betty. She was a lovely girl, her face in repose calm and radiant as some Italian Renaissance Madonna in a painting.
“No, I haven’t gone solo yet,” I was saying as we walked, “but I’ve only done nine hours up to now, you know”
“How long will it take you, do you think?”
“Oh, any minute now, but my instructor puts me off a bit, he is rather bad-tempered.”
(‘Can you see that other aircraft?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well then, are you going to fly round it or through it?’)
“That’s not very nice, is it?”
“No, not very, but I try not to let him put me off.”
[page break]
“Will you be getting any leave at Christmas?”
“Don’t suppose so, Betty; I mean to say, I’ve only been in three months altogether and we did get a 48 hour pass from Torquay, you know.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Knights had a radiogram in the lounge of their comfortable semi-detached house.
“Look what I got for Christmas,” Betty exclaimed, holding out a blue-labelled record in its cardboard envelop, “would you like to hear it?”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Hutch.”
I had little or no idea who or what Hutch was, then.
“Yes, please,” I said.
She put the record on and straightened up, standing before me in her simple, grey dress. The creamy, brown voice came out of the loudspeaker and I was immediately seized by some emotion which I had never before experienced.
“That certain night, the night we met,
There was magic abroad in the air,” sang Hutch, and Betty was humming the tune along with him.
“There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”
To this day, when I play that on my hi-fi and hear Hutch’s lovely velvet voice and perfect diction, I am back with Betty at Mrs. Knight’s, falling beautifully and adolescently in love with her from the exact moment that she played me that song. I find it, still, an unbearably moving experience, one which brings a lump into my throat and tears to my eyes.
“Did you like that? Do you want to hear the other side?”
“Oh, yes, please, I’d like to.”
On the other side was “All the things you are,” and it couldn’t have fitted my mood better, either. She was all the things which Hutch was singing about.
“That’s a wizard record, Betty,” I said. She smiled happily.
. . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
“Gosh, I’ve never had champagne before, Mr. Knight,” I said.
“Well, you went solo on Christmas Eve, when we were away and now you’ve done your first solo cross-country today, so you can try some, to celebrate, apart from the fact that it’s New Year’s Day, of course.”
“Well, thanks very much, and – cheers!”
“Cheers,” from Mr. Knight, “and happy landings.”
“Chocks away,” Betty said. Now where had she learned that?
“Would you like to hear another new record?”
“Oh, yes, I would, very much. What is it?”
“’You’d be so nice to come home to’, it’s called,” she said, “do you know it?”
“No, I’ve never heard that one.”
She put the record on and I listened as I sipped the unfamiliar but strangely disappointing wine. I thought, “Yes, you would be so nice to come home to, Betty darling.” Maybe it was the wine after all.
But I really didn’t know how to say that sort of thing to her. How did one start? Besides, my mind was still full of the voice of Flying Officer Lines from earlier that wonderful day.
“You don’t need me, do you? I am going to have a sleep. Wake me up if anything goes wrong.”
And pulling out his speaking tube he had wriggled down into the front cockpit, out of the slipstream, that New Year’s morning, as I set course, droning over snowy Sywell in the bitterly cold sunshine. He was a Battle of Britain Hurricane pilot, instructing for a so-called rest, and trusting me, with only thirty hours in my log-book, to fly from Sywell to unknown Cambridge, land, and come back again. If you did the trip without assistance from your instructor it counted as solo time, and I had done that. My cup of happiness was full, that day.
“You’d be paradise to come home to and love”, went the song as the record ended.
I sighed.
“Yes, she would be,” I thought, “but how on earth do you go about actually saying things like that to Betty?”
There were all manner of things I undoubtedly wanted to say to
[page break]
her. But I hadn’t even kissed her yet, and you couldn’t say some things without kissing somebody first, could you? Besides, she might not want me to. So how, and when, did, or could, one start? It was very difficult, rather like trying to do a perfect three-point landing.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Every other Friday we were paid. I was rich beyond my wildest imaginings. From the two shillings a day at Torquay I had progressed to no less than five pounds four shillings each fortnight. That was as a mere Leading Aircraftman. What I would be paid if ever I became a Sergeant pilot the imagination simply couldn’t tell me. I used to split the money carefully into equal parts and with one half burning a hole in my pocket and the Friday evening feeling joyously pervading my system my little world was at my feet until Monday morning. I would go into Northampton, to the “Black Boy” in the main square, for a mixed grill and a pint of black-and-tan, sometimes with Len or Eric, sometimes alone. It became the high point of my week.
We would sit and talk flying to our hearts’ content, comparing notes on our experiences. In retrospect how limited they were and how naive we were, and yet how miraculous and other-worldly it seemed to me to know the unutterable thrill of open-cockpit flying in the freezing winter air, strapped tightly into the fragile machine whose engine purred bravely in front of me; the wonder of the view of the blue-green and white hazy landscape spread out below, the icy slipstream on my numbed face, the thrill of the response, under my hands and feet, of the aircraft to small, smooth movements of the controls. There was the magic of the rising, tilting and falling of the snow-covered, mottled, dim countryside, blotched with the smoke of towns, the dazzling red disc of the sun as it set in the haze, the ecstasy of sideslipping [sic] in over the hedge and of smoothly straightening out the glide to set her down for a perfect three-pointer on to the frosty grass near the other Tigers, while a few fellow-pupils watched critically, and while over at the Vickers shed the engines of a great black Wellington rumbled ominously.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
“Are you coming down to the Y.M. tonight, Harold?”
My head was down over my books, in the dining room. I wasn’t finding the theory of flight too easy.
“Oh. Yes, I’ll be along; are you going to be there?”
“Well, I work there there [sic] three nights a week now, you know. Auntie thought I should do something to help the war effort until I’m called up.”
(Called up? I hadn’t thought of that; somehow I couldn’t imagine Betty in uniform.)
“O.K., I’ll see you down there later, then, I’ve got just about an hour’s work to do. Keep a chocolate biscuit for me, will you?”
She waggled her fingers, crinkled her nose smilingly, and went out.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I landed for the last time at Sywell in a Tiger Moth, sideslipping [sic] off the height and greasing her down on to the grass. I let the aircraft rumble to a halt, then I taxied carefully to the dispersal tents, faced her into wind and switched off. The prop juddered to a stop. An erk ducked down to chock the wheels. Dusk was beginning to fall; I could see Alex Henshaw, Vickers’ Chief Test Pilot, on the circuit in his Spitfire. Everyone always stopped whatever they were doing to watch him fly, it was part of our education. But my eyes always returned to the huge black bulk of the Wellington by their hangar. I pulled out my harness pin and released the straps carefully, so as not to damage the aircraft’s fabric. I sighed and reluctantly, as one would part from a girl, I climbed out of the cockpit. A chapter had ended.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“I don’t know exactly where, Betty, except that it’s overseas. The lads are all saying Canada, but no-one ever tells us much. I suppose we’ll not know until we get there. There’s a few posted to S.F.T.S.s in England, Hullavington, Cranfield, places like that, but ten of us are definitely on the boat.”
She looked down at her cup of tea. We were sitting together in
[page break]
the Y.M.C.A.; she had an hour off duty. The place was full of uniforms, but I scarcely notice them, I only had eyes for her.
“Will it be soon?”
“Next week, they think.”
“Harold - ?”
“Yes, what?”
“Oh, well, nothing. You will write, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, Betty, yes, I’ll write to you as often as I can.”
“What will you be flying?”
“Harvards or Oxfords, I suppose, I’m not really sure.”
“What do you want to go on to, fighters or bombers?”
(Strange, how civilians thought there were only those two categories of pilot, but I suppose the news the press and radio gave concerned mainly those two. After all, they were the types mostly at the sharp end of things. But I thought of Betty, huddled fearfully in the shelter, that night of the Coventry raid and I felt a sudden and great anger that she should have had to endure that. And I thought of the Wellington over at the Vickers hangar at the aerodrome, sinister, powerful, black, and from then on I was never in any doubt.)
“Bombers,” I said firmly, “definitely bombers.”
. . . . . . . . . . .
It is strange that I don’t remember saying goodbye to Betty, nor to the Knights, if it comes to that. I must have done so, of course, but sadly, I cannot bring the occasions to mind.
I did go to Canada. Once we got out west we worked hard and we flew hard, by day and by night. We got no leave, very little time off. We didn’t particularly want any. Things were getting rather urgent back home. Besides, I wanted to hurry back to Betty, and to my parents, too, of course.
I wrote to her as often as I could. She sent me her photograph, smiling and lovely in that grey dress, but I’m afraid I haven’t got it now. I got my wings a few days before my twentieth birthday. In the late summer, after a stopover in Iceland, I was back in England, and with a couple of Canadian chaps, splendid fellows whom I had
[page break]
met on the boat, I was posted to a Wellington Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourne, not too far from Northampton. Most of my buddies went on to fighters. As it happened, they had a little more future than us bomber boys. Not much, but a little. Of course, I was longing to see Betty again.
As soon as I had settled in I phoned the Knights one evening. It was an interminable business, repeating their number to different operators, waiting while the line buzzed and crackled, while disembodied and unreal voices spoke unintelligibly to one another in hasty, clipped syllables. In the end, a man’s voice spoke up.
“Is that Mr. Knight?”
“Yes, who is that?”
“It’s Harold.”
“Harold! How are you? Where are you speaking from?”
I told him Bassingbourn. We were allowed to do that so long as we didn’t give the name of our unit.
“How’s Mrs. Knight?”
“Oh, she’s fine, she’s down at the Y.M. this evening, on duty.”
“I see. And Betty, is she still with you?”
There was a slight pause. I thought we must have been cut off. Then he said, “No, she went back home a little while ago. Things are a bit quieter now, you know.”
“Yes, I understand. But how is she? I’d love to see her again.”
“Well, actually, Harold, she’s fine. But look, did you know – did she mention that she’s getting engaged?”
I felt as though I’d flown slap into a mountainside in the dark. I swallowed with difficulty, the perspiration had broken out on my forehead and my hand holding the receiver was trembling.
“No,” I said, “I didn’t know that.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“No, I hadn’t heard that.”
“Yes; he’s quite a nice chap, a bit older than she is, works in a car factory, I believe.”
We didn’t talk long after that; I was too stunned to think very straight. I’m afraid I never saw the Knights again, and I am truly sorry, for they were good, nice people and they were extremely kind to me. I made a mess of my flying during the next few days.
[page break]
I still think about Betty. I have quite a substantial record collection and after years of fruitless searching I finally got the record of Hutch singing what has become for me a poignant song, that song about the nightingale. And when I play it I can see Betty’s lovely face, pale and calm, like the Madonna, and I can visualise the gleam of the firelight on her jet-black hair, that winter afternoon in Northampton.
I wonder, often I wonder, what became of her. Dear Betty, I shall never forget you for you were my first love. What happened? Where did I go wrong? I don’t know why I should feel so very sad when I think of those days, for they were truly among the happiest of my life.
Sometimes, too, I think of the way she used to laugh, and of her words; I can almost hear her voice speaking to me, as though she were in the room here. But I know I shall never see her again and now, the touching little phrase sounds only like a cry of despair in the night – “Never no more, never no more.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
[inserted] [underlined] We would never fly like that. [/underlined] [/inserted]
[page break]
[underlined] WE WOULD NEVER FLY LIKE THAT [/underlined]
After I had described the incident to him, with inevitable, automatic use of a pilot’s illustrative gestures of the hands, he thought briefly about it, then looking directly at me, “You ought to write about it,” he said, “Why don’t you put it on paper?”
The following day I awoke early in the morning, earlier than usual, even for me, with his words still sounding in my ears. And remembering the words with which I had described the events of almost sixty years previously still fresh and vivid in my mind, I took up pencil and paper.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Now, in the dying days of the twentieth century, almost every summer week-end, all over the land, you may buy your ticket for some air display. You may sit in your car with the doors open to admit the pleasant breeze, the warm air, the chatter of the crowd, the over-emphatic loudspeaker announcements, or you may lounge upon your hired camp-chair, your sunglasses shading your eyes as you look upwards into the limitless blue clarity of the sky, and watch, to the accompaniment of the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the hundreds of spectators, the improbable antics of the ugly, purpose-built, monstrously-powered aircraft, meretriciously decorated with advertisements, performing their violent and ugly aerial manoeuvres. To me, the vicious use by their pilots of stick and rudder palls after only a few seconds, and I think, perhaps nostalgically, that I would much rather watch fewer and simpler aerobatics performed by pilots in standard military aircraft. And as I ponder this my thoughts are led back to a day on a Northamptonshire aerodrome when I was beginning my elementary pilot training in the R.A.F.
The time was the sever winter of 1940-41. The Battle of Britain had just been won; Coventry had only very recently been devastated by the Luftwaffe in one catastrophic night raid. I was one of twenty or so young men on our course. Most of us had never seen an aircraft at close quarters until we arrived at No. 6 Elementary Flying Training School. Here, there
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were Tiger Moths – biplanes, gentlemen’s aeroplanes, as I heard them many times described. They were docile, forgiving, vice-less, sensitive to both hands and feet, a sheer joy to handle once the initial strangeness of the sensation of controlling an aircraft in three dimensions had worn off. Most of us, I fancy, could see ahead no further than going solo on them, then completing the course with the required fifty or so flying hours before we went on to the next stage in our training, a Service Flying Training School. But we did not look far into the future; we did not know nor could we imagine what was coming to us. Perhaps, in many cases, this was just as well. All we knew was that we were, each one of us, filled with an unquenchable desire and zeal to qualify eventually as pilots in the finest Air Force in the world, to become – and we thought this and spoke of it without embarrassment or apology to any man – the elite of all the armed forces, an opinion which I will hold with pride today.
So we flew and we studied flying and talked of little else but the theory and practice of flying. We questioned one another. We pored [sic] over pilots’ notes and airmanship notes and navigation books and the Morse Code. We questioned our instructors and our peers on the senior course. And we kept our eyes and ears open, sensitive and receptive to anything, however small, which would assist us in any way to obtain those wings which we longed to be able to wear on our uniforms.
Here at Sywell, the Tiger Moths were, during the day, dispersed around the perimeter of the grass aerodrome, standing in their training yellow and earth-camouflage paint, their R.A.F. roundels standing out bravely, awaiting their next pupils to take them up on whichever exercise they would carry out. We were divided into three Flights, six or seven of the boys on my course in each, with six or seven of the senior course. Each Flight had its ‘office’ in a camouflage-painted bell tent near the hedge. But what drew my eye almost hypnotically when I was standing there, not flying, perhaps watching other pupils performing their ‘circuits and bumps’ until it was my own turn, was the occasional sight of a Wellington, a twin-engined bomber, at that time the biggest we had, standing outside a hangar on the far side of the aerodrome – the Vickers shed, as it was called. It fascinated me constantly and unfailingly, massive in its matt-black dope with its very tall single rudder, standing squat, silent and menacing outside its hangar, contrasting against the snow-covered ground,
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never approached by anyone except the Vickers personnel. What was taking place there I have never known, but all of us well knew who flew it.
He would arrive in his Spitfire, considerately keeping a respectable distance outside the circuit while we pupils took off or landed in our tiger Moths. Then he would slip into a vacant place in the circuit and make his approach and landing, his aircraft, pencil-slim, perfect and graceful in its flight, the focus of all eyes from the ground, its appearance possessed of something of the beauty and poetry of a Bach fugue or a Mozart andante, a Shakespearian sonnet of flowing aerial beauty. The pilot, we learned from some of the senior course who were comparatively old hands on the aerodrome, was Alex Henshaw, Vickers’ Chief Test Pilot, a fact which reduced us tyros, with probably less than thirty flying hours in any of our logbooks, to awestricken silence.
He it would be who would take the Wellington from its place at the Vickers shed, taxi it, ponderously, it seemed to us, into take-off position when all Tiger Moths were well clear, and without fuss send it charging with engines howling at full boost over the bumpy grass field and into the air, leaving traces of oily smoke in its wake from the two Pegasus engines as he eased it over the trees fringing the aerodrome and climbed away. Later, he would return to land, once again showing meticulous consideration of us pupils, and would taxy the bomber to its position by the Vickers shed. I would have not believed them had someone told me that less than a year later I would land and take off here in a more powerful Mark of Wellington on the strength of having seen Alex Henshaw’s performances; I am sure that my audience, if indeed I had one, would have been quite unimpressed by the sight. I know that my own crew, in the tense silence as I scraped over the trees on take-off, were wishing themselves anywhere but with me in my inexperienced disregard for their safety. But it was watching Alex Henshaw that first sowed the seed of an idea in my head that, whereas almost all of the chaps on my course wanted to fly fighters, I thought that I would try my utmost to get on to a bomber Squadron, if only to hit back at those who had so terrified Betty, the niece of the couple on whom
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I was billeted in Northampton, and whom I was beginning to regard as someone more than a friend. A year later I would be wearing my pilot’s wings, having been half way across the world and back to earn them, having joined a Wellington Squadron in Lincolnshire and having survived a fire in the air followed by a barely controllable night descent in the darkness and the final crash-landing on my first operation against the enemy. I would also have gained, then lost, a love.
One afternoon, at Sywell, I was not flying, standing outside the dispersal tent with two or three others of my course, no doubt talking flying, and watching critically the take-offs and landings of a few pupils on circuits and bumps. (How readily I could point out their faults – a slight swing on take-off, a ropey turn, a bumpy landing, or a too-high hold-off; how slow I was to recognise my own failings and correct them, except on the sometimes caustic promptings of Flying Officer J - -, my instructor).
At this stage in our training we could detect instantly any appearance or movement of an aircraft in the sky, no matter how far distant it was – an attribute I have never lost – and we could also quickly and correctly identify it, an ability which, for obvious reasons, was essential by day or by night. But on that bright, very cold afternoon, first there was the distinctive note of the Merlin engine. Our heads turned. Here was the Spitfire with Alex Henshaw, assessing the position of the Tigers on the circuit. He would have been at about 800 feet; I had a splendid view as he cruised gently along, well outside the aerodrome boundary. Then there was a flash of sunlight off the wing as, quite unexpectedly, he rolled the aircraft on to its back and flew, straight and level, but inverted, into wind. We turned our heads and grinned at one another. This was good. This was very good. Exciting stuff. Soon he would roll back and finish his circuit normally. We were wrong. He turned crosswind, still inverted, his rudder pointing grotesquely earthwards. This was becoming quite amazing, an incredible sight. Then, still inverted, he turned again, on to the downwind leg and put his wheels down – or rather, put them up, as we saw them, rising like a snail’s antennae from the duck-egg blue under surface of the Spitfire. Then he turned
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on to the final crosswind leg, still inverted, undercarriage held high, flaps now out, and finally into wind, on to his landing approach.
Spellbound and speechless we watched as he lost height smoothly in the inverted position. What was he going to do? Open her up and roll her out, then go round again on a normal circuit? But no, he continued on his inverted final approach. I hardly dared breathe; the tension in our small group could be felt. Down and down he slipped until we were prepared to see simply anything – but surely not a crash? I could not truly estimate at what height he was, but finally, effortlessly and smoothly, he rolled her out, the engine popping characteristically as he held off at a few feet and set the Spitfire down for a perfect landing on the grass. We exhaled in unison, the tension gone, wonderment taking over.
I have never seen any piece of flying anywhere to approach the silken, wonderful skill of this, and I would be astonished if anyone else has; it was sheer unadulterated Henshaw genius, a sight that I have always remembered with awe, one I shall never forget.
There is a very fine novel, long since out of print, written by an R.A.F. Flight Lieutenant pilot who was killed in 1940. The action takes place at a civilian flying school; in one particular chapter some pupils are watching an instructor putting an aircraft through its paces on a rigorous test flight and one of them speaks some words which precisely matched my thoughts as I watched that incredible inverted circuit – “We’ll none of us ever fly like that.”
I am sure that none of us standing there on that wartime winter day ever did and I would be astounded if anyone else did, or could. It was flying by a genius; even the gods must have smiled to see it.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Lennie [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LENNIE [/underlined]
In those days, full-backs wore number 1, right wing threequarters threw into lineouts and wore number 2, and so on, down to number 15 at wing forward. Lennie wore number 2 in my local rugby club’s first team, and also in the County side. As an aspiring wing threequarter [sic] myself, although just into my teens, Lennie, when I watched the team’s every home game, wide-eyed on the open side of the exposed pitch, in whatever weather, Lennie became one of my boyhood heroes.
He was not by any means one of your greyhound-type hard-running winger, for he carried, in retrospect, perhaps a pound or two too much weight to be numbered with them. But he was as elusive as a well-greased eel. Although in defence, and in particular, his rather feeble kicking, he was slightly suspect, with ball in hand every spectator, whether at club or County match, unconsciously sat up or stood straighter, in anticipation of his jinking, sidestepping runs up the touchline, soldier-erect, dark head thrown back, mouth slightly open. I wonder how often in his career he heard the encouraging shouts of the crowd, “Come on, Lennie!”
The recollection of a particular incident in one particular match, against the strongest club side in the county still remains vividly with me. In all but the highest grade of rugby, receiving the ball as a wing threequarter [sic] within ten or fifteen yards of one’s own corner flag meant that there was no choice. One kicked for touch, hoping to gain at least twenty or so yards. Especially so when one was pitted against the most efficient and successful team for miles around, and even more so when one was faced by the opposing winger, who in this case was an English international. But on this occasion Lennie eschewed the safe option. Perhaps it was that he himself knew that his kicking was rather weak.
About a hundred yards from his opponent’s line and faced by a rapidly advancing and grimly competent opponent, he set off to run, up the appreciable slope of his home ground. With a jink and a sidestep he evaded the oncoming International, who skidded and was left floundering. Urged on by the home crowd, myself included, he ran, sidestepped, swerved and tricked his way through the opponents’ entire team, his lately evaded marker in breathless and fruitless pursuit. He finally rounded the fullback and scored wide out to the left, after a solo effort of more than 120 yards. It brought the house down, especially as the England ‘cap’
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was finally left prone and exhausted in his wake. I have watched and played rugby for very many years and I honestly believe that I have rarely seen a finer individual try scored.
Came the war. Players and spectators alike of the necessary ages were scattered all over the world, many never again to see or handle a rugby ball. Very early in 1941, my elementary flying training – and Betty – left behind, the latter with some heartache, I and several other LACs from Sywell found ourselves en route for we knew not where to continue our training, gathered like so many shepherdless sheep in midwinter in a large and bleak Nissen hut at RAF Wilmslow, an overseas embarkation depot. There must have been fifty or so of us in the hut, sitting upon our respective beds, while a Corporal at one end lectured us on some topic relevant to our impending departure, then called us forward, alphabetically, of course – I was used to being the last in any roll-call – to hand us some sheet of instructions. Awaiting my turn I watched idly while others hurried forward to the Corporal’s desk, then about-turned and went back to their places. Watched idly, that is, until a name I only half-heard was called, and a well-built dark man trotted, on his toes, up the aisle to the Corporal. I started up with a stifled exclamation, recognising the way he ran. It was Lennie, Lennie C - - of W - - R.F.C. I could scarcely believe my eyes. For a second or two the forage cap with the white flash of u/t aircrew almost deceived me.
As soon as we were left to our own devices I walked along the hut and across to his bed-space.
“Excuse me, but you are Lennie C - -, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked curiously at me.
“I thought so, I’ve often watched you play, at W - -.”
He looked surprised and pleased. I mentioned my cousin, who played in the same team. To meet someone from one’s own home town in the Service was a reasonably infrequent happening, and because of that, all the more welcome. He told me he was under training as a Navigator. We stuck together, despite the disparity in our ages – he was about ten years my senior – through our dismal stay at Wilmslow, then via Gourock and a ridiculously small ship to Iceland where we trans-shipped
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to an armed Merchant Cruiser. This was more of a morale-boosting title than anything else; the ship was a medium-sized passenger cruise vessel with two quite small guns which, at a guess, might have just about managed to sink an empty wooden barrel, but not much else. The news finally filtered down to us that we were heading for Canada. On setting out from Reykjavik we looked around for our convoy. There was none. We were to cross the Atlantic alone, with two paltry guns to defend ourselves against whatever there might be in the way of U-boats, pocket battleships or a combination of both. This was a very real threat. The ‘Bismarck’ was later to sink ‘Hood’ and itself to be sunk in the North Atlantic. We slept and lived, about 150 of us, I suppose, on the floor of what had been the Recreation Room with about twelve inches of so-called bed-space between mattresses. Half way across the Atlantic, in a February storm, the engines packed up and we tossed, helpless, for twenty four hours, a sitting target for the Kriegsmarine. Then at last we heard the welcome rumbling from the bowels of the ship.
An LAC whose bed-space was near to Lennie’s and mine then reported that he felt unwell. Chickenpox was diagnosed, and the M.O., looking for all the world like an S.S. man selecting victims for the concentration camp, ordered that several of us, including Lennie, Brian S - , who had been on my course at Sywell, and myself, were to be sent into quarantine when we arrived in Canada. Brian, as it happened, was also a rugby man, having played for Broughton Park.
We duly and thankfully docked in Halifax, Nova Scotia and after, I’m afraid, gorging ourselves on steaks and chocolate, which we had never seen since before September 1939, about twenty of us, including two or three Fleet Air Arm airmen, to our eyes bizarre in their bell-bottomed trousers and flapping collars, were put on the train for Cape Breton Island, in particular for the small R.C.A.F. Station of North Sydney.
Our quarantine turned out to be farcical. After twenty four hours on the camp we were informed, amazingly, that we could please ourselves where we went and whom we met, until further notice. We looked at one another in astonishment – then proceeded to enjoy ourselves while we could. Our duties, such as they were, consisted of one night duty in six when three of us were left in charge of the kitchen and served meals to the RCAF airmen
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who were on guard duty and fire picquet. The civilian cooks, who had never met anyone from the U.K., ensure that we were fed like fighting cocks, providing us with quantities of steaks, eggs and milk. Out of camp, the streets, cafes and cinemas of North Sydney and of Sydney itself were open to us. Lifts in cars belonging to the local people were there for the asking, and the friendly Nova Scotians, learning of our arrival, took us to their hearts and into their homes. They were astonished that despite the deep snow on the ground, we seldom, if ever, wore our great coats. The cold was so dry compared with that in England, and we were physically in such prime condition that we felt no discomfort, whereas our Canadian hosts went about muffled up in greatcoats and fur hats with ear-flaps. Our stay there was as good as an extended leave.
Off the pitch, most rugby players are determined to do their utmost to ensure that breweries never go out of business. Lennie was no exception. When a group of us were out together he drank his beer slowly but steadily, became more and more relaxed and laughed a good deal, sometimes uncontrollably. He never became objectionable or aggressive, never used bad language and was always amenable to our advice that perhaps he had had sufficient and it was time to return to camp. Being a mere tyro, at the age on [sic] nineteen I drank sparingly and with considerable discretion, my mental sights being fixed over the horizon, on the next stage of my flying training and the eventual gaining of my wings. So I took it upon myself, on several occasions, to steer Lennie, muscular but curiously boneless, laughing at only he knew what, safely into our barrack hut and on to his bed, where I covered him, still in uniform, with his blankets, where he would fall peacefully asleep. Lennie, even with several beers inside him, never did the slightest harm to anyone.
Of course, the idyll had to come to an end. After several very pleasant weeks, our posting came through. Brian and I and some others were destined for Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, No. 32 S.F.T.S., while Lennie was posted to Goodrich, Ontario, a Navigational Training School. I remember how we shook hands when we said ‘cheerio’. His smile was as broad as ever, and his hand, I recall vividly, was large and surprisingly soft.
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It must have been on one of my leaves from Moreton-in-the-Marsh towards the end of 1942 when my father, who was on the committee of the local rugby club, gave me the news. Lennie had been shot down and was missing. He believed that it had happened off the Norwegian coast. It was yet another blow to me following the loss of my own crew. I had recently had a reply from the Commanding Officer of my Squadron in response to a letter I had written him, that my crew must now all be presumed dead. I felt that the bottom had dropped out of my life and I was nearing the end of my tether. I was suffering deeply, as was my flying, and I sensed that my forthcoming Medical Board would be the end of a chapter. I went about cocooned in silent grief so intense that it amounted to permanent depression, which was only temporarily assuaged by drinking far more than I ever saw Lennie drink. From what little my father had gleaned from his informant at the clubhouse I surmised that Lennie must have been on some squadron in Coastal Command. For some reason I visualised him on Whitleys.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Years passed. I will not say that I had forgotten Lennie; occasionally some memory of those days would float unbidden into my mind and I would visualise him as I had last known him on Cape Breton Island, always smiling, playfully light-hearted, completely harmless. Then a friend gave me a cutting from a local newspaper with a photograph of the successful rugby team of the immediate pre-war years. Lennie smiled up at me from the middle of the front row of players, next to another young man who had been shot down into the sea off the Dutch coast as a wireless operator in a Blenheim on a daylight shipping strike. I was impelled to ask the friend whether any information could be obtained from the Internet as to what had happened to Lennie, and when it was he had died. Within days I knew enough to be able to consult a series of volumes of casualties of Bomber Command. For Lennie had not been on a Coastal Command Squadron as I had surmised, and he had not been shot down off Norway.
He was the Navigator of one of six Wellingtons from a Bomber Squadron at Mildenhall, (where much later, J – ended her career in the W.A.A.F. as a Base Watchkeeper), detailed to attack shipping, in daylight, on the Dortmund-Ems Canal in North-west Germany on a September afternoon in 1942.
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On reading this, I could hardly believe that Wellingtons were being used on daylight operations at that time; I had thought that the crippling loses [sic] that they suffered on such attacks in the early days of the war had meant their transfer solely to night bombing. (On my telling M – about these circumstances, she said ‘Suicide raid’. That was about the size of it.) Mr. Chorley’s painstakingly collated and amazingly detailed book gives the bare bones of the tragic story. Four and a half hours after taking off, presumably on their way back to Mildenhall, and within sight of the Dutch coast and the comparative safety of the North Sea, his aircraft was attacked by a Luftwaffe Focke-Wulfe 190, a formidable fighter aircraft. The wireless operator was killed in the attack and the aircraft was set on fire. The two gunners managed to bale out and became prisoners of war. The account says that Lennie was last seen using a fire extinguisher, bravely trying to put out the fire which was raging inside the fuselage of the Wellington.
The blazing aircraft crashed into what was then the Zuider Zee; the bodies of the wireless operator and the pilot were recovered and subsequently interred in a cemetery in Amsterdam, but Lennie’s body was never found and, having no known grave, his name is recorded on the Runnymede Memorial along with twenty thousand others whose remains were never recovered.
So died a hero who for a brief time was my friend.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] It makes you think [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] IT MAKES YOU THINK [/underlined]
“Mail up!”
We jumped off our beds and hurried towards the door at the end of the barrack hut. At least, some of us did. The majority stayed where they were, on their beds, pretending to read, cleaning buttons, pottering about. There could be almost no chance of mail for them, for they were Norwegian, and their homeland was under German occupation. They accepted this lack of mail, as they did much else, with considerable stoicism.
We who were the fortunate ones gathered around the R.C.A.F. airman who called out the names on the envelopes, and who, while looking down at the handful of letters he held, handed us our mail without a glance. There was one for me. I looked at the postmark. Coventry. My heart bounded when I saw that. There was two-thirds of the width of Canada and all the Atlantic Ocean between us; she was back in devastated Coventry, I in smaller and completely peaceful Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, under training as a fighter pilot.
I walked slowly back to my bed, savouring the sight of her handwriting, feeling the texture of the envelope smooth under my fingers. I sat down quietly, as far as one could be quiet in a hut with twenty-nine other blokes. In deference to us, the Norwegian lads did keep quiet as we read our mail. I held the unopened letter a long time in my hand, gazing at her rounded, shapely writing. I wanted this moment of pleasure to last as long as possible.
At the time I was with her, under the same roof, being so caught up in the novelty and the thrill of flying, I didn’t realise what was happening to me, or to her, and it was all too foolishly late that I had become slowly aware of it. After we had parted, when I was at the Embarkation Depot en route for Canada, and when I had time to take stock of myself, it was only then that it dawned slowly upon me that I had fallen in love with her, and that I wouldn’t see her again for the best, or the worst part of six months at least. Oh, Betty, I thought, the time I so stupidly wasted. Would I ever have the chance again?
I sighed, and looked at her photograph on my locker. She was
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smiling at me enigmatically, her mouth curving slightly up at the corners, her dark eyes holding more than a hint of mischief, the gleaming mass of her ebony hair framing the soft pallor of her calm face. Slowly and carefully I opened the envelope. I turned to the last sheet, looked at the end of the letter first, fearful that it might say only “yours sincerely” or some such. It did not. The words were there that I wanted to read. I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and luxuriously, and started from the beginning.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Tim spoke up from across the gangway between the beds, his English idiomatic and only very faintly accented.
“I hope she still loves you, but come on, we have flying to do.”
“O.K., Tim, I’ll be right with you.”
I tucked the letter into my top left-hand tunic pocket, carefully buttoning the flap. Soren and Aage, next to Tim, both stood up. What opposites they were, I thought, Soren cheerful, muscular, blond, extrovert, while Aage was gaunt and rather silent, and toothy, with melancholy eyes which flickered nervously around him. We made our way up to the flights; it was going to be another hot day. Already the air was filled with the tearing rasp of the Harvards’ Wasp engines as the fitters ran them up in preparation for a long day’s flying.
We turned into ‘F’ Flight crewroom at the front of one of the hangars and looked at the flying detail pinned up on the board, next to the Coke machine. Aage was due off on a cross-country to Swift Current and back at 0900, while Tim, Soren and I had an hour’s formation flying at 1000. Lower down the list I saw that I was due on the Link Trainer at 1500 for blind-flying simulation, and to round off the day, or rather, the night, one and a half solo night-flying hours at 2100. It was going to be a long day, as well as a hot one. Aage, now bent over a map, pencilling careful lines, was to take over my aircraft, I saw, when I landed after night-flying.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
After the snowy, tree-fringed grass field at Sywell it was a novelty to have these sun-baked runways, even more so when there were two parallel ones with a narrow grass strip in between, the whole field being patterned by this double triangle of concrete strips.
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We took it in turns to lead our formation of three. Station-changing, as we had no R/T, was indicated by hand-signals from the leader. Soren was to lead first with me as his number two and Tim, three. Then I would take over the lead, and finally, Tim. I followed Soren’s bright yellow Harvard out as he taxied on to the perimeter and turned towards the end of the runways in use. He took the right-hand runway of the pair and edged across to the left of it, braked and stopped. I gave him ten yards clearance and took the right-hand edge of the same runway. Tim stopped level with me, alone on the left-hand runway. I saw Soren slide the canopy shut and start rolling, and I followed, pushing the throttle firmly up to the stop. I never got used to the tremendous feeling of exhilaration as the power surged on. I lifted the tail and kept straight with small pushes of my feet on the rudder-bar. As I chased after Soren I could see Tim out of the corner of my eye, keeping abreast of me.
Suddenly Soren was airborne, then I followed, climbing into the summer sky. To maintain station, the rules of tidy and correct flying were suspended. You used no bank on your small turns to get into position, but skidded gently across on rudder only. It felt all wrong, it was like being told deliberately to mis-spell a word one had known and used for years. When I had first practised formation with F/O Sparks in the front cockpit I had been frightened out of my wits to see two other aircraft each within ten yards of me. But one was soon conditioned to accept this, and very quickly one learned the gentle art of close formation flying, when your own wing was actually tucked in to the space between the leader’s wing and his tailplane, so that any forward or backward relative movement meant a collision. But provided you watched him like a hawk, and kept station by means of constant throttle and rudder juggling, you got by. It became great fun, and the early thoughts of comprehensive and devastating collisions were soon forgotten.
So I tucked myself right in on Soren’s starboard side and stayed there while he climbed, turned or glided. We flew four basic formations, vic, echelon starboard, echelon port and line astern. The echelons looked great and the line astern gave you a bit of relaxation, for numbers two and three were slightly lower than the aircraft in front,
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to keep out of the turbulence of his slipstream. Where we were heading was not my worry, nor Tim’s. Soren was in charge of that side of things while he was leading. He gave the signal to change leaders. I skidded away from him and opened the throttle to draw ahead. He skated in to my left and Tim crossed to my right, as number two. Back to cruising revs as they snuggled themselves in tightly against me. I looked down at the baked prairie landscape and saw that Soren had headed us back towards Moose Jaw to make it easy for me. I grinned and mentally thanked him. I started to sing loudly to myself as we flew, running through the repertoire of the popular songs we were always playing on the juke box at Smoky Joe’s cafe, just outside the camp gates, I felt on top of the world – a letter from Betty, a great day for flying and the formation going like a dream. I led them around until my time was up and signalled Tim to take it from there, over Regina Beach on Last Mountain Lake, at four thousand feet.
I slid into number three position in the vic and tucked myself in tightly into Tim’s port side. He led us around in a turn to port, back towards base. We never did steepish turns in vic formation, it was too difficult for the man low down on the inside to keep station as he had to cut his airspeed back so much. Tim tightened the turn and climbed a bit as he did so. Watch it, Tim, I thought. Still tighter; I dared not look at my airspeed. Still tighter, and my controls were starting to feel sloppy, approaching the stall; I dared not throttle back any further or I would stall off the turn and go into a spin, and a Harvard lost nine hundred feet per turn once they did spin. Out of it! I shoved throttle on as I winged over and dived out of the formation, swearing to myself as I did so. The wretch! Playing silly buggers like that!
All on my own in the bright morning sky I screamed round in a steep turn to port, with plenty of power on, nearly blacking myself out in the process. I yanked the seat tighter against the straps to bind my stomach firmly in and keep the blood in my head, stopping the grey-out. I eased out of the turn. Five thousand feet. Now, where the hell were they? Then I saw them, now about six miles away, orbiting innocently. I flew over to them and sat just off
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Tim’s port wingtip, shaking my fist at him, which only made him throw back his head and laugh as he made come-in motions with his hand. I went in, tight. We formed up again into a sedate vic and finished the detail, as usual, in echelon port, about two miles from the field, when we did our line-shoot party piece – a swift wing-over to port in rapid succession and a dive on each other’s tails into the circuit, making sure we were well clear of the more sedate pupils going about their quiet business.
When we had landed, taxied in and switched off, I collared Tim.
“Damn you!” I said, pretending to be about to sling a punch at him, “What the hell do you think you were playing at? Trying to make me spin in, were you?”
“No danger,” he replied, laughing, “you had bags of height – can’t take it, eh?”
Soren chimed in, smiling broadly.
“We thought you’d just decided to go home.”
“Wait till I’m leader, next time, you two mad so-and-so’s,” I said threateningly, “I’ll turn you both inside out!”
All the same, I threw Tim a Sweet Cap; Soren didn’t smoke. We strolled back to ‘F’ Flight crew-room where I’m glad to say that Tim bought the cold Cokes. It was a hot morning.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Link Trainer Sergeant was a stocky little R.C.A.F. man who looked like a middleweight boxer.
“Don’t forget to reset your gyro-compass every ten minutes or so or you’ll be way to hell out at the end. Got your flight card? Do all your turns at Rate two and let’s have a nice neat pattern on my chart at the finish. Give me the O.K. when you’re ready and I’ll tell you when I’m switching on so you can punch the clock.”
“Right oh, Sergeant,” I said.
I climbed into the little dummy aeroplane on its concertina-like base. I pulled over the hood, plugged in the intercom in the darkness and propped up the flight card near the small lamp on the instrument panel. I felt the lurch as he energised the system; the instruments
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came to life with a sigh.
“I’ve put you at a thousand feet,” he said, “do you read that?”
“Check,” I replied, “turning on to 045 Magnetic, now.”
“Got you. Just watch your height as well as your timings, won’t you, bud?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
I was flying the awkward Maltese Cross pattern, the idea being to finish exactly where you started, after the completion of the twelve legs. The instructor had a wheeled “crab” which inked in the line of your track on his chart. At the end, you should have drawn a perfect Maltese Cross, but it took forty minutes, approximately, of solid, grinding concentration on your instruments alone.
“Switching on – now!” came his voice, and I hit the stop-watch.
After what seemed like hours I did my final Rate 2 turn on to my original course. I straightened it up, timed a careful one minute, then called out, “Finish – now!”
He acknowledged and switched me off. The needles sagged to their stops. I took off my headphones and opened the hood and side door.
“O.K.,” the Sergeant said, “come right over here and have a look-see. Not bad at all.”
I went over to his glass-topped table. My pattern was about ten inches across and I had finished about an eighth of an inch from where I had started. It looked pretty damn good to me, and for an instant I thought about Tink’s brother in his Hampden.
“Yes,” I said, feeling rather pleased, “just a bit out, Sergeant.”
He grinned.
“You’re doing O.K., buddy,” he said agreeably, “now how’s about seeing if L.A.C. Briggs is outside, eh?”
“O.K., Sergeant,” I said.
He had just made my day.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I lay back on my bed after the evening meal and read the letter once again. The hut was quiet. Those who weren’t night flying had gone to Smoky Joe’s or into town for an evening meal. The few of
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us on the night flying detail were reading, writing letters or dozing on our beds, waiting for the darkness. There was no sign of either Tim or Soren, while Aage was actually sound asleep.
She wrote, “I miss you here, I miss our walks in the park. I wonder if you will be posted somewhere near when you come back, where we can meet? Do you still want to go on to bombers, like you told me? Will it be very dangerous? Whatever happens, I shall pray for you, as I do now, that God will keep you. I have always said what has to be, will be, but I feel he will keep you safe…..” She went on to say she would be spending some time with her Aunt and Uncle in Northampton, as her parents still felt happier with her over there.
I folded the letter slowly and thought about Betty and the simple, almost idyllic happiness of life in those days six months ago. Tink, on the bed next to me, motioned to me and across at Aage, grinning, imitating his open mouth and his posture, his ungainly sprawl. Tink, the single-minded, I thought, hero-worshipping his brother flying his Hampden over Germany, and who could hardly wait to get on to the same Squadron. A faraway look would come into his eyes when he spoke about it; “When I get on Hampdens,” he would always be saying, and his broad, boyish face would be raised to the sky, “When I get on Hampdens with my brother –“
But looking at Aage had made me feel tired, too. I yawned, then lit a cigarette and grinned at him. Tink was from Coalville in Leicestershire; I wonder often what became of him.
An hour later I was taxying my Harvard out in the darkness, the flarepath away to my right looking very long and very far away. Night flying without a navigator and entirely without radio consisted, at Moose Jaw, of circuits and bumps – and of not getting lost. There was no blackout and you could see the town for miles, no bother at all. But if the visibility went, you got down out of it, quick. So far, it never had; the prairie nights were wonderfully clear.
I got my green from the A.C.P. and, nicely central between the flares, opened her up. We charged down the runway and floated off
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easily. I had done quite a few of these night flying stints before, and found I had taken to it naturally, much more so than I did to aerobatics, for example. Undercart up, throttle back to climbing power, keep the gyro on 0, shut the canopy, and up to 1000 feet. Level off, throttle back to cruising, turn port to 270. There’s the flarepath down over my left shoulder. Keep the wings level, watch the artificial horizon. Rate one turn downwind, heading 180, throttle back a bit, then wheels down when we’re opposite the middle of the flarepath. Greens on the panel as the wheels lock. There’s the A.C.P. giving me a green on the Alldis lamp. Crosswind on to 090. Bit of flap. Drop the nose and turn in. Watch the airspeed, open the canopy. Engine noise surges in. Switch on the landing light and hold her there. Nice approach, I think. Now, hold off and let her sink the last four feet. The flares merge into a line. Hold it there. A bump and a rumble. We’re down.
Keep her straight, flaps up, headlamp off. Touch of brake, not too much. Fine, now turn off the runway along the glim-lit perimeter track and back to the take-off position again. There’s someone else up, I can see his nav. lights. Wonder who it is? I rumble along the peri. track to head back for the end of the runway. Must say, I can see Tink’s point, I’d rather like a bash on Hampdens myself. After all, they’re what I wanted when I first thought about joining up, except that my ambitions were no higher than to be a gunner.
“Will it be very dangerous?”
God knows, Betty, but as you say, what has to be will be, and there is no turning back, one must simply live for and through the minute, even the second, and do what has to be done, enduring what has to be endured with fortitude.
Something’s irritating me, and I can’t think what, except there’s something here which shouldn’t be. My God! Yes! The cockpit is full of red light, now it’s flashing off and on, urgently. Stop. Tread on the brakes. She creaks and jerks to an abrupt halt. The red light stops flashing at me and someone taxies past me in the opposite direction. Wow! So that’s what the red was all about?
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Must stop this day-dreaming. Only two more circuits and I can pack it in, hand over to Aage and hit the sack. I’ll be about ready for it, too.
There’s my green. Hope he doesn’t report me for taxying through a red. It was only a dozen yards – I think. Oh, well, can’t do a thing about it now. No harm done, so here goes, back to my take-off point. Turn on to the runway, uncage the gyro on 0, open her up. We’re off again.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Turn on to 180, see the stars sliding around. Between the field and the town, now. Nice and easy, purring along, last landing coming up, then into the pit.
“I miss you here, I miss our walks in the park.”
I wish I were meeting you after this, Betty, ‘you’d be so nice to come home to’ – I wonder if you still play that record? ‘To come home to and love.’
Coming home – the lights of home – lights – lights – lights! What the hell’s going on? All those lights, ahead, and coming straight for me? Hell! Get the stick back, you’re in a dive, heading straight for the town! You’ve been asleep, you bloody fool. Come on, come on, ease out. The lights slide below me. Thank God for that. I risk a look at the altimeter – 500 feet. God. Another few seconds, and that would have been it, smack into the town centre, curtains. I reach up and slam the canopy open, letting the cold night air flood in, taking deep breaths to wake myself up. I climb cautiously back to circuit height, select wheels down and duly get my green from the A.C.P., as though nothing at all had happened. I turn across wind, edging towards the flarepath. Shove the nose down, turn port, full flap, headlamp on, heading straight in. I land, thankfully, and exhale with relief. Aage is ready and waiting to take over the kite as I dump my ‘chute, blinking in the bright light of the crewroom, and fill in the Authorisation Book.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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The murmur of voices nearby awoke me. I pulled the bedclothes around my ears, but it was no good. I was awake, back to life again. I sat up, yawned, looked at my watch – 0820. Still in time for breakfast, if I hurried. Brian, Tim, Tink and Soren were in a huddle across the other side of the hut, talking in hushed voices, looking solemn. Two strange erks were standing near Aage’s bed. I was puzzled.
“Hey, Tink!” I called, sitting on the edge of my bed and yawning again, “Tink!”
He looked over his shoulder and came across to me. I nodded towards the strangers.
“What’s cooking?” I asked.
“It’s Aage.”
“Aage? What about him?”
“He’s dead. He crashed, night flying, last night.”
“He what?” I gasped, fully awake in an instant, “He crashed? How the hell did it happen?”
Tink shrugged.
“No-one knows, he just went in, about four miles away, that’s all we know.”
“Christ,” I whispered, “poor old Aage. He’s definitely - ?”
“Oh, yes,” Tink said, “no doubt about it, I’m afraid.”
I said, quietly, “He took over my kite, last night, you know.”
Tink said, “Was it O.K. when you had it?”
“Of course, no trouble at all.”
I didn’t want to mention my falling asleep, not even to Tink. He sighed.
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I answered, remembering the lights rushing towards me, “it certainly makes you think.”
(‘What has to be, will be.’)
“Mail up!” someone shouted, and there was a clatter of feet hurrying down the hut. There would be no mail for Aage. Another day had begun.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] “Yes, my darling daughter” [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] “YES, MY DARLING DAUGHTER” [/underlined]
“What was it you did yesterday?” Flying Officer Sparks asked, “advanced formation, am I right?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering what was in store for me that morning. He pinched his lower lip between thumb and finger and frowned with silent concentration, his black moustache looking more luxuriant than ever.
“Well now, I think you’d better do some steep turns, climbing turns and a forced landing. An hour, solo. Take 2614. Don’t do all your turns to port, you don’t want to give yourself a left-handed bias, and watch you don’t black yourself out in your steep turns. Now. Forced landings. Don’t touch down anywhere, you only do that with an instructor. Don’t go below a hundred feet, and thirdly, don’t cheat and have a field picked ready, close your throttle at random when you’re doing something else. If you do ever have an engine failure you won’t be able to pick and choose the time or the place. All right? Any questions?”
“I take it I keep my undercarriage up, sir?”
“Yes, better a belly landing and a bent prop than a somersault if you try a wheels down landing on an unknown surface. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Right, off you go, then.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I came to attention, about-turned smartly and went out of the Instructors’ Office into the pupils’ crewroom of ‘F’ Flight, No. 32 Service Flying Training School, Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, on the Canadian prairies.
I felt buoyant that morning; I was feeling very fit and happy and I knew I was flying well. It was a beautiful early summer day with a few puffs of fair-weather cumulus at about five thousand feet, with a light breeze to temper the already growing heat. The constant drone of Harvards filled the air, punctuated by the fierce, ear-splitting howl and crackle of the high-speed propeller tips as one fled down the runway like a scalded cat, tail up, and took off, flashing yellow in the sunlight and tucking its wheels neatly up as it left
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the runway.
Tim and Soren, two of the twenty or so Norwegians on our course – in fact, the R.A.F. were in the minority on Course 32 – were sitting in the crewroom. They completed my formation of three when we flew, and we were great buddies. Tim looked up and grinned.
“No formation for us this morning, eh?”
“No, not this morning, Tim. I hear that you’re grounded, anyhow, for trying to make me spin in off a turn!”
I was joking, of course, and Tim knew it; on’s [sic] loyalty to one’s formation was absolute. Tim laughed hugely, his lean, brown face, normally rather grave, was transformed.
“Anyhow,” I said, “he’s not fit to fly with a face like that,” and I pointed to Soren, who was feeding a nickel into the juke box. There was a thud, and out came the seductive voice of Dinah Shore.
“Mother, may I go out dancing?
Yes, my darling daughter.
Mother, may I try romancing?
Yes, my darling daughter – “
It was practically our course signature tune at Moose Jaw, everybody sang, whistled or hummed it and selected it on whatever juke box was handiest, whether here in the crewroom or out at Smoky Joe’s, the cafe at the camp gates, on the dust road which led to town. Soren looked up. He had a bottle of coke in one hand, a split lip and a discoloured right eye. He grinned at me.
“Ah, but it was just a friendly little fight with a couple of Canadians, nothing serious at all.”
Soren’s favourite occupation on his evenings out was to have several drinks then find someone to fight. Strangely enough, he never fought with any R.A.F. bloke.
“See you later, then,” I said to them. Tim gave a vague wave, Sorne’s eyes were already shut as he lay full length on a convenient bench, arms crossed on his chest, his mop of incredibly blond hair gleaming in the sun which poured in through the window.
“What if there’s a moon, mother darling, and it’s shining on the water?” I sang to myself as I crossed the expanse of concrete
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in front of the hangars, under the blazing sun, my parachute bumping against the backs of my knees, the morning breeze finding its way pleasantly inside my unbuckled helmet. It was so hot that we were able to fly in shirtsleeves. Up at eight or ten thousand feet it was delightfully cool, but at ground level the temperature could climb to the 120’s in the sun by afternoon.
I found 2614 among the half dozen kites parked in line facing the hangar. Someone had thoughtfully left the canopy open to minimise the heat in the cockpit. I checked that the pitot-head cover was off, I didn’t want to get airborne and find that the airspeed indicator was out of action. Then I climbed in off the port wing-root, clicking the leg-straps of my ‘chute into the quick-release box as I did so. An erk was standing by with the starter trolley. I did up my safety harness while I was busy with the pre-start cockpit check. I operated the priming pump and shouted “Contact!”, switching on the ignition, and with the stick held firmly back into my stomach I pressed the starter switch. The propeller staggered, jumped, staggered again, then caught as the engine roared into life. the prop-tips became a yellow semi-circular blur in front of my eyes. The erk wheeled away the trolley, parking it to one side where I could see it.
I tested the controls for the full movement and ran up the engine, buckled my helmet securely and pulled the seat up hard against the straps, waving away the chocks. The erk gave me the thumbs-up. I toed the brakes off, opened the throttle a little, and we rolled. I taxied with exaggerated care, knowing that F/O Sparks was probably watching me. I had been told off by him once or twice for taxying carelessly. So I ruddered the nose meticulously, each way in turn, at 45 degrees to my direction of travel, which enabled me to see ahead, to the sides of the big 450 horse-power radial engine. A taxying accident was a very serious matter indeed, and a Court Martial was the automatic sequel.
I arrived at the end of the twin runways in use and squinted up into the flare; no-one was on his approach. A final check on the windsock and on the cockpit settings, then I turned on to the runway, pushing on a little rudder to ensure I was absolutely in
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line and central. I set the gyro to ‘0’ and uncaged it, then glanced up to make doubly certain that the canopy was fully back, just in case anything went wrong on take-off and I had to get out in a hurry. Then a final deep breath and we were off. I eased open the throttle to its fullest extent. We rolled, rumbling over the runway, keeping straight with small pushes on the rudder. The engine note rose to a deafening howl and the pressure on the stick increased as we gathered speed and as I eased the stick central. We were in a flying attitude, tail up and charging down the runway which was vanishing with amazing rapidity under the nose of the aircraft. At 65, a slight backward pressure on the stick – not quite ready. At 70, a bump or two, then the incredibly smoothness of being airborne.
I whipped up the wheels, holding the nose just above the horizon to pick up speed, then I throttled back to climbing boost and revs, and reaching up, slid the canopy shut. It was a bit quieter then, and I could relax a little. I adjusted the climbing angle to give me 100 m.p.h., saw with satisfaction that the gyro was still on ‘0’, and did a quick check on all the instrument readings, going swiftly round the cockpit in a clockwise direction. The altimeter slowly wound around its way towards the cotton-wool cumulus.
“Mother, may I go out dancing?
Yes, my darling daughter,” I sang loudly to myself.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“How right he was,” I thought as I brought her smoothly out of a steep turn, “you can black yourself out in one of these.”
I had tightened the turn gradually, to the left, which I could do without conscious effort, toeing on top rudder to keep the nose pushing around the horizon, the stick fairly tightly into my stomach to tighten the turn in on itself. As the rate-of-turn indicator hovered around the 3 1/2 mark I could feel myself being crushed down into the seat, my cheeks were being pulled downwards, and the instruments had become rather fuzzy as the ‘g’ took hold of the blood in my brain, sucking it down out of my head. Then, as I came out of the turn and the ‘g’ decreased, I stretched myself against the straps as the pressure slackened, and bared my teeth in a mirthless grin
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to restore my features to their correct shape.
“Forced landing next,” I said to myself as I slowly but firmly closed the throttle, stopping it just before the place where the undercarriage warning horn would sound. I was at about six thousand feet, to the west of Moose Jaw. Several miles away, to the north-east, I could see another Harvard stooging along, probably on a cross-country, and away to the north a civil DC3 was flying the beam from Regina to Swift Current. I gently pushed the nose down into the quietness, selected flaps down and hand-pumped on 15 degrees. In a real engine failure you would have to do it this way, the hard way. I slid the canopy open and was all set to pick what would laughingly be called my ‘field’; in this part of the world what passed for a field was rather rare.
The prairie lay below in its muted colours, the occasional yellow dust road straight as a string, the sun flashing briefly on some watercourse. About thirty miles to starboard there seemed to be some line-squalls building up already above the low hills which marked the border of Canada with the neutral U.S.A. I put the kite into a shallow glide. Then I saw my field, a green, squarish paddock with two white buildings in one corner, a dirt road leading up to them. I settled the airspeed on 80 and turned towards the paddock, losing height slowly but steadily in a succession of well-banked turns like the descending hairpins of a mountain road. The green postage stamp of the paddock grew larger. From the smoke of a small fire somewhere on the prairie I saw I would be roughly into wind on my final approach. The white buildings grew into the size of matchboxes.
“What a God-forsaken place,” I thought, “imagine being stuck out here, miles from anywhere, no town, no trees, lots of damn-all connected by roads.”
Then I notice a movement near the house. One figure was standing just outside it, then it was joined by another. Still I glided down, mentally noting airspeed and altimeter readings with quick glances, checking and assessing my position in relation to the paddock. I used to sideslip Tigers with contemptuous ease to get them into the
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field at Sywell, it became my trademark before I left there, but I’d never tried to sideslip a Harvard. Come to think, perhaps this wasn’t the time to start. The horizon had lifted quite a lot. I was going to make it all right, I thought. The prop windmilled ahead of me and I had the urge to open the throttle to make sure that the engine was still functioning; it seemed an age since I had cut the power off. I dropped the nose and did a final turn to port. Airspeed back to 80, pump down full flap, line up, into wind, on to the paddock.
It was a man and a girl standing there watching me, the sun gleaming on their upturned faces. The man was pointing upwards, towards me, he had put his arm protectively around the girl’s shoulders. His daughter, I thought. I imagined them speaking to one another in their slightly harsh Canadian voices, anxious as to what was going to happen next to the aircraft, to me – and to them and their home. I saw the girl give a small wave of the hand, nervously, encouragingly, almost as though she were trying to placate some force, to stave off a possible disaster, and I felt a pang of guilt, knowing that they would be thinking that I was in trouble. Two ordinary people, the tenor of their lonely lives disturbed as never before, by my so casual and uncaring intrusion.
Altitude 150 feet. Airspeed 80. It was, if I said it myself, a honey of an approach, I could have put her down with no trouble at all. They were both waving now and I could distinguish their features. I had them firmly fixed in my mind as father and daughter. Perhaps he was a widower, living out his hard life on the land which his ancestors had farmed since the Indians had left, perhaps his pretty daughter had sacrificed her youth, her prospects and hopes of marriage, to look after her father and help on their farm, burying herself in their lonely world. They were remote there from everything of violence, receiving news of the war over the radio from professionally cheerful and brash newsreaders, couched in terms that they could merely imperfectly comprehend: Europe was far away, dominated by some tyrant of whom they knew little, opposed only by distant and defiant English cousins whom they had never seen, and whose ways were as strange and unknown to them as those of the biblical characters of whom perhaps they read daily at the end of their quiet evenings together.
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I saw him clasp her to himself protectively, and I saw also that I was now below 100 feet. Firmly, I opened the throttle fully. The engine surged with power, its roar doubly deafening after the long glide down. I eased the nose up and gently started to milk off the flap. The house slid beneath my port wing. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the two figures. He was greying, slightly stooped, in brown bib-and-brace overalls, she a slim girl in a vivid blue frock, her dark hair like a halo round her face. I suddenly thought of Betty. They stood, their arms around each other, as I flew over them.
Then I had the strange and unaccountably peaceful feeling that in those few minutes I had known them all my life. It was as though time itself had become distorted, elongated, to envelop the three of us in some temporal vacuum in a cul-de-sac off the normal path of consciousness, where the clock of the world stood still and where we had, in some mysterious way, experienced a fragment chipped off the endless expanse of eternity, wherein the three of us had been united as one.
The horizon sank away below the Harvard’s nose. I was back again in my element after those eerie few seconds. I looked down at them for the last time. She was standing with both hands pressed to her face. Then her father slowly raised his right hand, as though in benediction. I climbed away into the summer sunshine. And I sang, to no-one but myself, but thinking of the girl down there –
“Mother, must I keep on dancing?
“Yes, my darling daughter!”
I turned the Harvard’s nose for home.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Crewing-up [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] CREWING-UP [/underlined]
Although there are many things which happened at that time when we looked directly into “the bright face of danger”, there are some, and regrettably, some of the most important, the recollection of which steadfastly eludes me. This of course pains me greatly, as the men I was about to meet were destined in those six all too short months to leave an indelible and now poignant impression upon my memory.
My recurring faint recollection is somehow associated with being in a group of other pilots, pupils at 11 O.T.U., Bassingbourne, not far from Cambridge, quite near to the place of execution of Dick Turpin at Caxton Gibbet, and later to become an American Flying Fortress base. We were gathered at the end of one of the hangars in the morning sunshine, practising what little skills we had acquired on the use of the sextant, taking sun-sights and from them plotting the latitude of our position, which was, of course, easily checked by our, at that stage in our training, benign instructors. Perhaps their thoughts were couched in similar terms to those which Connie was to use in conversation with me a year or more later, and in totally different circumstances and surroundings – “They don’t know what’s coming to them, poor sods, do they, Yoicks?”
None of us knew what was coming, for better or for worse, to us, and I was certainly not to know that within the hour I was to meet, and for the next six months – (was it really as little as that?) – become associated with and know intimately five of the finest men, in my opinion, who ever walked the earth. Men who became closer to me, closer to each other, than brothers, than my and their own flesh and blood, men who were mutually supportive in the intangible but unyielding bond which perhaps only aircrew or ex-aircrew can comprehend, men, four of whom had already entered the last six months of their short lives.
We put away our sextants, thankfully, in most cases. There were about twenty of us pilots on the course, both from the United
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Kingdom and the Dominions. My own particular friends were Charlie from Newcastle, Hi-lo, a rugged, rangy Canadian and the man who was to become his Observer, a cheerful Australian named Laurie, and also Roddy, another Canadian, smiling and lively, whom I often addressed, attempting, not unkindly, to imitate his accent, as Raddy. He, Hi-lo and Laurie were soon to be posted with me to 12 Squadron. All three were also soon to die.
We had completed our introduction to the Wellington under the tutelage of ‘screened’ ex-operational pilots, on somewhat battle-weary ex-Squadron aircraft. The inevitable ‘circuits and bumps’ – a few of the bumps quite heavy – had been the order of the day, and of the night, a fortnight of them. I astonished myself by going solo on what were in my eyes monstrously large twin-engined aircraft, having gained my wings on single engined Harvards, in less than three hours. Perhaps it was due not so much to skill and ability as to confidence, or perhaps over-confidence. Looking back on it now it never ceases to astound me and I have to consult my log book to verify the figure of a mere two hours and forty five minutes instruction.
One interesting feature of this fortnight was that before we flew at night we practised what were known as ‘day-night’ landings. Flying in broad daylight with an instructor as safety pilot, we wore specially tinted goggles which gave the impression of surrounding darkness, while the runway was marked by sodium lights which showed up brightly and gave us the line of approach and landing. It was a novel and rather weird experience, but a very useful one, preparing us for the real thing, flying at night in much-reduced visibility, our eyes fixed almost exclusively on the blind-flying panel of A.S.I., altimeter, turn and bank indicator, gyro compass, artificial horizon, and rate of climb and dive indicator.
And so, to one degree or another proficient enough pilots of the Wellington, we were ready to be crewed up.
‘George’, as automatic pilots were universally known, were rare pieces of equipment in late 1941, so every Wellington was crewed by
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two pilots who shared the manual flying (of anything up to 7 1/2 hours on some operations) and one of whom was designated as captain of the aircraft, almost invariably addressed as ‘skipper’ or more usually ‘skip’. Once in the air, however, the pilot was virtually under the orders of his Observer, a misnomer if ever there was one, as he was in no position, huddled in his tiny compartment with his plotting chart and maps, his parallel ruler and sharpened pencils, constantly reading his super-accurate navigation watch, his ‘slave’ altimeter and airspeed indicator, to observe anything outside the aircraft. No pilot, however privately doubtful he might be of the Observer’s statement of the aircraft’s position relative to the earth, or of his instructions to alter course on to a given heading at a certain time, ever had the temerity to question him as to these matters except in the mildest and most oblique of terms. To do otherwise was to risk a most sarcastic reply, usually culminating in the curt riposte, “You just do the flying and let me do the navigating.” Later, on the Squadron I was to learn that Observers as a clan – and a Freemasonlike clan they were, dabbling in the impenetrable mysteries of running fixes, square searches, back-bearings, drifts and suchlike – were sometimes irreverently known as the Two-Seventy Boys, after their alleged persistent habit of, having bombed some German target and being urgently asked by the pilot for a course “to get the Hell out of here”, would airily answer, “Just steer two-seventy,” that being West. The Observer was also the crew member who released the bombs, his bomb selector panel down in the starboard side of the aircraft’s nose being somewhat inappropriately known as the Mickey Mouse, for a reason I never discovered, directing the pilot from his prone position between the front turret and the pilot’s feet on the rudder pedals with what was usually a breathless series of instructions, “Left, left”, “Right” or “Steady”, the word “left” always being repeated so as not to be confused with “right” against the various external and internal noises of a bomber aircraft. Current at the time was a somewhat school-boyish joke that one Observer had so far forgotten himself in the excitement of the bombing run to call urgently to the pilot, “Back a bit!”
The remaining three crew members each wore the air gunner’s ‘AG’ half-wing on his chest. But one, in addition, had the cluster of
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lightning flashes of a wireless operator on his sleeve and was invariably referred to, not by the official designation of wireless operator/air gunner but with the racy and succinct abbreviation ‘WopAG’. His was the task of obtaining as many bearings on radio stations, both R.A.F. and, if he was able, B.B.C. and German civilian stations such as Hamburg or Deutschlandsender and pass the information to the Observer in the next compartment. He must also, at designated times, listen out to messages from his base aerodrome and also his Group Headquarters. In addition, in emergency, he could attempt to obtain a course to steer to any given bomber station by requesting from them a QDM, the code for that information. But this was regarded as being rather infra dig.
The two ‘straight AGs’, as the other gunners were known, occupied their respective gun turrets with a few inches to spare, one at the front and one at the rear of the aircraft, the coldest positions, despite their electrically heated leather Irvin suits. In the ‘tail-end Charlie’s’ case it was the loneliest position in the aircraft and the most hazardous if attacked by a Luftwaffe night-fighter, but the safest if a sudden crash-landing became necessary, or if the order to bale out was given in some dire emergency, when he simply rotated his turret through ninety degrees, clipped on his parachute, jettisoned the turret doors and fell out backwards. Each turret was equipped with two .303 inch Browning guns, lovingly maintained and cared for by their users, pitifully inadequate when compared to the cannon of the German night-fighters.
To be in the firing line of these Luftwaffe cannon was not at all pleasant. Although never, fortunately, experiencing it in the air, Charlie, my room-mate, and I, billeted in Kneesworth Hall close to the aerodrome, on the old Roman road of Ermine Street, were quietly writing letters one evening in our first-floor room when we heard, and ignored, the noise of the air-raid siren from the village. Bassingbourn was one of the nearest training aerodromes, and certainly the nearest bomber O.T.U., to the east coast, although a fair distance from it. But this fact must have been well known to the enemy, who paid us periodic visits. One aircraft, in fact – I believe it was a Junkers 88 – either by design or mischance actually landed at
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Steeple Morden, our satellite aerodrome and became the property of H.M. Government and the Air Ministry, subsequently appearing as part of the circus of captured German aircraft in flying condition which we once saw flying out of Duxford, a nearby fighter station, where they were based, and heavily escorted by a squadron of Spitfires indulging in some plain and fancy flying around them to discourage curious onlookers such as we, who might have gone so far as to try to shoot them down, if in sufficiently rash a mood. However, to return to Kneesworth Hall and the air raid warning. Charlie and I carried on with our respective writing until we were suddenly aware of a strange aircraft engine noise becoming rapidly louder, accompanied by the loud and staccato banging of cannon-fire as the German intruder shot-up the road, the village and approaches to the aerodrome. Our letters were swiftly thrown aside as we, with violent expletives, flung ourselves under our respective beds. My future rear gunner also had a tale to tell concerning an attack by an intruder.
The taking of sun-sights over, we were instructed to gather in one of the hangars to be crewed up. There was, as I recall, no formal procedure attached to this important and far-reaching event. One of two instructors acted somewhat like shepherds directing straggling sheep to make up a group of six which was to be a crew. There must have been a hundred or more aircrew of all categories milling around rather haphazardly until, perhaps, a beckoning hand, a lifted eyebrow or a resigned grin bonded one man to another or to a group as yet incomplete. The whole procedure, if indeed it could be graced by that term, seemed to be quite without organisation, the complete antithesis of all previous group activities I had experienced since putting on my uniform eleven months before. Here, there was no falling-in in threes, or lining up alphabetically. (And how I used to long for anyone named Young who would replace me, the invariable and forlorn last man in any line for whatever was to be received or done.)
“You lookin’ f’r ‘n Observer?”
He was tallish, rather sallow and thin-faced, in Australian dark blue uniform with its black buttons, Sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeves, the winged ‘0’ above his breast pocket.
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“Sure. Glad to have you,” I said.
This was Colin, more often than not simply ‘Col’. He was to guide us unfailingly through the skies, friendly skies by day and night, then through the hostile moonlit spaces over Germany and Occupied Europe. Col, from Randwick, near Sydney, with his baritone voice which quite often suddenly creaked, almost breaking as he spoke, with his wry sense of humour, his sudden, almost apologetic half-stifled laughter, his strange, colourful vocabulary – “Take five!” His term, sometimes sarcastically uttered, of approval. And when he suspected that I or some other member of the crew was trying to kid him – “Aw, don’t come the raw prawn!” A single man, his father working for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
Later, one night on ops with the Squadron to Kiel where the Gneisenau was skulking after its dash up the Channel from Brest with the Scharnhorst and Prinz Eugen, Col performed a wonderfully accurate piece of navigation. It was on an occasion, of which there were several, when the Met. forecast was completely inaccurate, which we feared when we entered cloud at 600 feet after take-off. We climbed slowly until we could climb no more in the thin air and reached 20,500 feet, still in cloud, a faint blur of moonlight showing above us. We bombed the centre of the flak concentration in the target area, completely blind, but saw several large explosions which we duly reported on our interrogation back at base. Losing height slowly on the way back and with an unwelcome passenger in the shape of the 1000 pound bomb which had hung-up, I broke cloud at something around 1000 feet on return, a mere four miles south of our intended position, to see the welcome finger of Spurn Head down to starboard and the four red obstruction lights of a radar station near Cleethorpes gleaming ahead. Over seven hours in cloud and an error of only four miles, thanks to Col’s abilities. It was on this raid, by Wellingtons, 68 in total, of our No. 1 Group, that the Gneisenau was so badly damaged that she never sailed again from her berth. Many of her crew were killed. Perhaps it was our bombs that had done the damage, who knows.
I once found Col, on an op, being quietly sick into a tin at the side of his plotting-table, his face ashen, but carrying on despite that.
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Such was his dauntless spirit. He had my unspoken sympathy as a fellow-sufferer.
A pale, poker-faced and very quiet Royal Canadian Air Force sergeant pilot attached himself to us. Elmer, as the rest of the crew came to christen him, was silent to a degree, but despite that somehow exuded a quiet if somewhat forlorn determination. When we reached the Squadron in October he joined Mike Duder’s crew. Five of the six of them were killed when, damaged by flak over Essen on Mike’s 29th trip, his last but one of his tour had he completed it, they were finished off by a night-fighter and crashed in Holland. It was not until many years later that I learned a little more about Elmer. Although in the R.C.A.F., he was not, in fact, a Canadian, but a citizen of the United States of American, from St. Paul, Minnesota. Before Pearl Harbor [sic] he had an urge to fly against the Germans, possibly because of his Central European forbears. He volunteered for the U.S. Air Force as a pilot and underwent his initial training. Unfortunately, like many others, he had trouble with his landings and was failed. He returned home undeterred, with his desire to become a pilot undimmed. To raise money for the course of action upon which he had decided, he took a job in a sweet factory and augmented his wages by working as a petrol pump attendant. He then travelled to Canada and enlisted in the R.C.A.F. This time he successfully completed his training and got his long-desired wings. All this I learned years later when I was able to trace his sister-in-law and with a residual sense of guilt over my at times impatient, if not downright snappy instructions to him in the air, I have attempted to salve my conscience by having several times visited his grave, and those of his crew, in a war cemetery in a small, neat town in the Netherlands.
The ‘father’ of our crew was Mick, our Wop/AG, the only married man amongst us. In peacetime – or ‘civvy street’ as it was invariably known – he had worked at Lucas’ in Birmingham and was knowledgeable on most things electrical and mechanical, owning a small Ford car as well as a motor cycle. The former was later well used on stand-down nights on the Squadron for trips into G.Y. (as Grimsby was known) and I once had the doubtful pleasure of a hair-raising pillion ride
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over snow-covered skating rink minor roads, on his motor cycle, also into Grimsby, which was almost as nerve-wracking to me as a trip to Essen. Mick (this was not his given name) was tallish, fairly well-built, with a high forehead, a studious manner, a slight ‘Brummy’ accent and an unconsciously querulous voice. It was he, I think, who christened me ‘Harry’, by which name I became known by the rest of the crew, and the use of which, after their loss, I have strongly discouraged. Mick had done part of his training somewhere in Lincolnshire and had frequented, and knew the landlady, Edna, of the Market Hotel on Yarborough Road in G.Y., which became a home from home for us on stand-down nights. He had a habit concerning which Col and I wryly complained on several occasions, of, on being asked over the intercom. for some information, would testily reply, “Hey, shut up, I’m listening out to Group.” We met his wife once, in the ‘Market’, Mick proudly introducing her to us all, a shy, rather self-effacing girl, soon to become a widow.
Our gunners were a wonderfully contrasted pair. Johnnie, from a small Suffolk town – and again, not his given name – in the front turret, was slim, neat in appearance, quiet of speech and demeanour, moderate in his choice of words and apparently completely without fear. No matter what the circumstances, his voice over the intercom. was as calm and measured as though he were indulging in casual conversation over a glass of beer. On the way to Essen one night we were suddenly coned in a dozen or more searchlights and the German flak gunners got to work on us. Cookie was hurling the aircraft all over the sky in his attempts to get us out of the mess, and I was being hurled all over the interior of the aircraft, which was lit up as bright as day. In a steep dive, attempting to escape from the combined attack of searchlights and flak bursts, Johnnie, without being told, opened fire with several short bursts from his twin Brownings on the searchlight batteries, and immediately we were freed from them as they snapped out as though all controlled by a single switch. Johnnie bought himself no beer the next time we went to the ‘Market’.
In contrast to Johnnie’s urbanity there was Tommy, our cockney rear gunner. I am still looking for Tommy, still seeking to discover what became of him after he was admitted to hospital after a few ops with us, whether even today, somewhere, he is alive. J – would have
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described him, had she, like me, had the good fortune to know him, as being like Tigger, a very bouncy animal. Although not tall, he was built like a boxer or a rugby prop forward, solid, chunky – even more so when kitted up in his Irvin suit – with a gleaming broad red face, scarred in one place, topped by rather long and slightly untidy Brylcreemed hair, his face almost always split in a broad grin. He was cheerful, cocky, good-humoured, never short of a quip, lively and effervescent, and he was a tonic to us all when things were going against us.
He laughingly described to us one incident in which he was involved while in his training Flight in the weeks before coming into the crew. He had been on a night cross-country involving an air-to-sea firing exercise, aiming, presumably, at a flame float which they dropped in the English Channel. Several other gunners were taken along on the trip and after Tommy had fired his allotted number of rounds he retired to the rest bed half way down the Wellington’s fuselage, unplugged his intercom., closed his eyes and fell asleep, the padded earpieces of his helmet dulling the noise of the engines and of the rattle of the Brownings fired by his fellow-pupils. He awoke with a start, someone shaking him violently and yelling in his ear, “Bale out! Bale out!” The aircraft was being jinked around the sky in evasive action from the attack of a German fighter. By the time Tommy had collected his wits, found and clipped on his parachute and jumped through the open escape hatch, the aircraft was down to approximately 600 feet, the lowest safe altitude to allow a parachute to open. No sooner had it done so than he was down to earth, to the softest of all possible landings – in a haystack.
He had no idea where he was, nor what had happened to the aircraft or to the others in it, and certainly no idea of the planned route of the cross-country flight.
“I hadn’t a bloody clue where the hell I was,” he told us, “could’ve been in France, Germany England, any bloody where.”
So he collected his deployed parachute into his arms and in the darkness plodded away from the scene of his sudden and fortuitous landing upon the earth. The unfamiliar countryside was silent and
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dark. He came upon a ditch under a hedge and rightly decided to spend the night there. In the morning he would take stock of his position. In the ditch, he rolled himself into his parachute, comfortably warm inside his leather Irvin suit and once more slept.
In the morning, at daylight, he cautiously emerged to size up the situation. On the other side of the hedge was a narrow road. Keeping well hidden, he awaited developments. Presently, the distant sound of voices alerted him and two men dressed in farm-workers’ clothes came walking along the lane. Tommy strained his ears to catch their conversation, to determine what language they were speaking. To his relief he heard familiar English words. Tommy emerged and, perhaps too quickly, confronted them. But startled as they were by his sudden appearance and flying clothing, they were soon convinced of his nationality when he employed his colourful vocabulary to some effect. They directed him to the nearest house where he received some much-needed refreshment and telephoned his flight Commander at Bassingbourn.
On our evenings out at the ‘Market’ in G.Y. he always made a point of collecting small empty ginger ale bottles after one or other of us – often it was I – had added the contents to our gin. These he would take along on our next op., storing them handily in his already cramped rear turret ready for use. We had heard it said that if caught in searchlights, a couple of empty bottles thrown out would, during their descent, scream like falling bombs and cause the searchlight crew to douse their light, and one night on the approach to the Happy Valley, as the Ruhr, with the somewhat black humour of bomber crews, was known, when we were trapped in searchlights he proved, by throwing out a few bottles, that this was no old wives’ tale. It worked like a charm and we slipped through the defences and on to Essen.
(Soon afterwards, on leave, I was relating this to an elderly and very unworldly female relation, who, to my amazement and vast amusement was alarmed and scandalised, wide-eyed and open mouthed. “Oh! But you might have killed somebody!” she exclaimed.)
I have made several attempts to find out whether Tommy survived the war. In correspondence with a contemporary Squadron member, he
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wrote to say that he had a copy of a Squadron Battle Order in which Tommy’s name appeared in relation to an operation, as rear gunner in some crew whose names were unfamiliar to me, but that Tommy’s name had been crossed out in pencil and another substituted. Whatever the significance of that, neither he nor I could tell after the lapse of time. A message on the Internet, placed by my Dutch friends, has produced no result.
Are you out there somewhere, Tommy? If so, you and I are the only two survivors of the six who came together on that sunny August day in the echoing hangar at Bassingbourn those years ago. I miss you all, more than words can express; I think of you every day that passes, and I never cease to grieve for you, nor ever shall.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[underlined] Enemy coast [/underlined]
Through cockpit window now,
The lemon-slice of moon,
Some random stars
Pricked in a hemisphere of indigo.
Ahead, the coastline waits –
Pale, wavering beams
As innocent as death
Rehearse the adagio ballet
Which will transfix us
On pinnacles of light
For ravening guns.
But for a space
In this brief, breathless safety,
Poised high above the metal
Of the neutral sea,
We hang in vacuum,
Scattered like moths,
Mute castaways in sky.
Until, inevitable, we penetrate
The charnel-house of dreams,
That swift unveiling of Apocalypse
Familiar to us
As the routine holocaust
Which other men call night.
H.Y.
June 1991
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[inserted] [underlined] Images of mortality [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] IMAGES OF MORTALITY [/underlined]
Someone, once, to whom I had been talking – perhaps, it must be admitted, at rather too great length – of my time at Binbrook, cut across my words impatiently with, “Ah, yes, but you were at an impressionable age then.”
Not being by nature argumentative I let the comment pass, and the subject was rapidly changed. But the memory of that remark has remained with me. Broadly, I would not dispute its accuracy, for surely, at whatever age one is, one should be, and should remain, impressionable. But here, the implication seemed to be that the events I had been speaking of were not of such importance to have remained so strongly in my memory as they had done. I was then, and still find myself now, a little annoyed by that viewpoint. The happenings of that period of time were of considerable importance to us participants, and the young men, or youths, as some of us were who were involved, were all, in their own individual ways remarkable to one extent or another, by any standards of unbiased judgement. But perhaps my bias is showing.
Be that as it may, when I think of Binbrook now, there comes into my mind a cascade of kaleidoscopic impressions of scenes, small scenes maybe, and of faces and voices, images of places and of people fixed into my memory like the black and white snapshots secured in an album of photographs.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
It was a shock to me when I saw it for the first time, walking up the road from the Mess towards the hangars. Being a peacetime Station – only just – Binbrook was equipped with the standard pattern of permanent buildings, including a row of what had been married quarters – a few semi-detached, two-storied houses. For some seconds I couldn’t think what had happened over there when I saw that most of the top storey of one of the houses had been shattered and was broken off. I halted in my stride, quite appalled at the unexpected and shocking sight. My first thought, an almost instinctive reaction in those days, was “enemy action”, then it slowly dawned on me that
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this was not so, that the building had, horrifyingly, been struck by one of our own aircraft, either on taking off or on landing, using the short runway. Who it had been, and what casualties had resulted, I never knew. I was too shaken to ask and no-one, certainly, ever volunteered the information. It was not a topic of conversation one indulged in or dwelled upon. But similar incidents were to involve my room-mate, Johnny Stickings, and I was to escape the same fate by only a few scant feet, and by the grace of God.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Johnny had been somewhat longer on the Squadron than I, an Observer in Sergeant O’Connell’s crew. He was short, rather chunky and pale, with straight hair the colour of dark sand. I think we were both much of a type, for while we never went around together, we were perfectly pleasant towards one another and quite happy to be sharing a room, never getting in each other’s way or on each other’s nerves.
One winter’s morning I woke to find his bed still neatly made up and unslept in. At breakfast I heard that his aircraft had crashed the previous night, coming back from an op., on Wilhelmshaven, I believe. As far as anyone could tell me there had been both casualties and survivors. It was later that day when I returned to the room, and found Johnny in bed.
As I recall, he seemed rather dazed and quiet, as well he might have been. He went into few details of the incident; possibly his conscious mind was shying away from the harrowing experience, or perhaps he had been given a sedative. What he did tell me was that when the aircraft crashed he remembered being thrown clear. He had been flung bodily into a small wooden hut on some farmland in Lincolnshire. The hut had collapsed around him and he was only discovered lying in its wreckage by chance, when one of the rescue party noticed the demolished building.
For several years, on the anniversary of the crash, there was an entry in the memorials in the “Daily Telegraph”, to Sergeants O’Connell, Parsons, Laing and Delaney, signed “Johnny”. Then one year the entry no longer appeared.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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Life on the Squadron produced, naturally, shocks to one’s nervous system. Shocks which one could reasonably expect as part and parcel of the normal run of operational flying, and which to one extent or another were predictable. It was the unexpected ones which shook one more violently than the rest; the dazzling blue of a searchlight out of nowhere which flicked unerringly and tenaciously on to one’s aircraft, the long uneventful silence of flying through a black winter’s night being suddenly shattered by a flakburst just off the wingtip. These were things which could set the pulse, in an instant, racing to twice its normal speed.
But there was an incident which occurred in, of all places, the ablutions of the Officers’ Mess, an incident which was so completely unexpected and, at the time, heaven forgive me, so utterly shocking, that it froze me into complete immobility, open-mouthed, horrified, and, for an instant, uncomprehending.
Apart from, as they are termed, the usual offices, in the dimly-lit stone-floored rooms, there were, naturally, a row of washbasins. I was washing my hands at one end of this row one evening when I heard a soft footstep nearby and I distinguished a figure in the feeble blue light which served to illuminate the place. What was so shocking was the face, a random patchwork of different shades of vivid red, white and pink, two long vertical cuts from the ends of the mouth to the chin, the eyelids unnaturally lifeless and mis-shapen, the hair of the head in isolated tufts falling at random on the skull over the brow.
As he moved, I recovered myself and muttered some vague greeting as I went hurriedly out, back to the normality of the well-lit, noisy anteroom. It was a while before I recovered from this un-nerving encounter. Someone subsequently told me about Eddie. He was a burn case, one of McIndoe’s ‘guinea pigs’. A pilot, he had crashed, taking off in a Hampden. The aircraft had burst into flames. The Hampden’s cockpit was notoriously difficult to get out of in a hurry and he had fried in his own greases until he was rescued. Richard Hillary, in his well-known book ‘The Last Enemy’, described Eddie as the worst-burned man in the R.A.F. He was now a pilot in the Target Towing
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Flight, flying drogue-towing Lysanders on gunnery practices.
Possibly because we both frequented the games room a fair amount, he and I slowly drifted together. No-one made any sympathetic noises towards Eddie, that was definitely not done, and no-one made the slightest concession towards him either. He played against me often at table-tennis, with a controlled ferocity which could have only have been born of the desire to live his spared life completely to the full. Frequently, a clump of his dark auburn hair would flop uncontrollably down over his eyes, to expose an area of shiny red scalp, upon which hair would never again grow, one of the numerous grafts on his head and face, the skin having been taken, he told me, mostly from his thighs. He would damn it cheerfully and push it roughly back again with his sudden slash of a broad grin, which never reached his lashless and expressionless eyes.
I had detected some accent which I could not place. One day while we were sitting together in the anteroom, chatting, he mentioned that he was a South African.
“Oh?” I said, “Where from? I’ve got relations out there.”
“Where do they live?”
I named the town.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, “that’s where I’m from; what’s their name?”
I told him.
“Have you a cousin called Edna?”
“Why, yes,” I said, astonishment growing every second.
“I used to go around with her,” he laughed, “it’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Eddie, I am glad to say, survived the war. There is a photograph of him, among others of McIndoe’s ‘Army’, in a book named ‘Churchill’s Few.’
. . . . . . . . . . . .
What can one say of Teddy Bairstow? Only that, had he lived fifty years before his time he would have been described, I am sure, as ‘A Card’ or as ‘A Character’.
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Unlike Tony Payne or Jim Heyworth, for example, he was physically unimpressive; very thin-faced and pale, sparse hair brushed sideways across his head, but with eyes as bright as those of the fox’s head of our mascot. It was his voice, however, which one remembers best, grating, strident and penetrative in its broad Yorkshire accents. When he was in the room, everyone knew it, and the place seemed filled with his jovial, but somehow, rueful, almost apprehensive presence.
Teddy had a stock phrase which he used whenever anyone asked him, for example, what sort of a trip he had had. He would lift his voice in both pitch and volume and exclaim to the world at large, “Ee! ‘twere a shaky do!” He had, to everyone’s knowledge, at least one very shaky do. Coming back from some op, he found, for one reason or another, that he wasn’t going to make it back to Binbrook. But he was reasonably close, he had crossed the Lincolnshire coast, and decided he would force-land his aircraft. But no wheels-up-belly-landing, as he should have done, for Teddy. Incredibly, he did a normal landing, if it could be described in those terms, undercarriage down, in the darkness, into a field near Louth, and got away with it without nosing over into a disastrous cartwheel. Few would have survived to tell the tale – Sergeant O’Connell certainly had not done so – but everyone agreed with Teddy’s usual comment. ‘Twere indeed a shaky do.
Towards the end of February Teddy’s luck ran out. We went after the German pocket-battleship Gneisenau in Kiel Docks, where it was holed up after escaping up the Channel. Teddy did not come back.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Somehow, it happened that Eric and I tended to gravitate together to play billiards or table tennis in the Mess games room, and for the odd glass of beer. It was, I think, possibly because like me, he was the only one of commissioned rank in his crew, apart from Abey, that is, who was his pilot and our Flight Commander, a Squadron Leader, very much senior in rank to both of us. Eric was Abey’s Observer, tall, well built, unfailingly polite, his manner polished and urbane, yet by no means superior. We got along very well; I enjoyed his company, and I like to think he enjoyed mine.
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It was one afternoon when we had a stand-down. Frequently, my crew and I would go in to Grimsby, to the cinema, then to the “Market” for a meal with Edna, the landlady, possibly stay the night, and come back in time to report to the Flights next morning. We usually managed to cram ourselves into Mick’s, our wireless operator’s, Ford. However, on this particular afternoon, possibly because we were broke, there were no such arrangements. I happened to bump into Eric in a corridor, in the Mess. We said “hello”, then he stopped suddenly and said, “I say, are you interested in music?”
“Yes, I am, rather,” I said, not knowing what to expect.
“Well, look, I’m just going along to old Doug’s room, he’s going to play some records – would you like to come along? I’m sure he won’t mind.”
So I went. Doug was pleased to see us both. He wound up his portable gramophone and put on Tchaikovsky’s ‘Valse des Fleurs’. I can never hear that lovely, lilting piece without thinking of that afternoon in Doug Langley’s room, lost in the beauty of discovery of orchestral music, and remembering Doug himself, with his light-ginger hair and luxuriant moustache, sitting, eyes closed, head thrown back, as Eric and I listened attentively. From there, on a subsequent stand-down night we went to a real symphony concert, my first ever, in Grimsby, and a whole new and wonderful world had opened up for me, thanks to Eric and Doug.
Abey’s crew went missing on Kiel, the same night as Teddy Bairstow. It was years later that I knew that Eric, and indeed, the rest of the crew, had survived. Desperate for contacts after J – ‘s death, I hunted through telephone directories until I found his name, and contacted him. After a few phone calls, and the exchange of several long letters, I met him in London. Being the men we are, it was an affectionate but undemonstrative greeting, a handshake and smiles rather than arms around shoulders and tears.
His was a simple story. With quite typical frankness he told me, and M – who was with me, that it was all his fault that they had got shot down. There had, he said, been some fault in his navigation, a very common thing in those days when navigational aids were almost nil, when such things as Gee and H2S had never been heard of. On the way to Kiel they had strayed over Sylt, a notorious hot spot of an island off the Danish-German coast.
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They were hit be flak in their starboard engine, which put it out of action. After a discussion as to the alternatives open to them, Abey had turned for home, in the fond hope that one good engine would be sufficient to carry them to the English coast. It was not to be; they were losing too much height to be able to make it back across the wide and inhospitable North Sea. The next option was to turn round again, fly across enemy-occupied Denmark and try to get to Sweden, where they would bale out and be interned for the duration. Again, their loss of height eventually ruled this out, they would never have a hope of reaching any Swedish territory. The third and final option was to bale out over Denmark. This they did, one after the other, successfully, over the island of Funen. They were all immediately taken prisoner. Eric and Abey finished up in the notorious prison campo Stalag Luft III, Sagan, the scene of the “Wooden Horse” tunnel – and of the murder of fifty aircrew officer prisoners by the Germans.
Eric, to my and to M – ‘s fascination, produced an album of pencil sketches he had made on odd scraps of paper, of prison-camp life. I asked him how he had been treated as a P.o.W., those three and more years that he spent behind the wire. Typically, again, he said, “Oh, I didn’t have too bad a time, really, you know.”
What could one say in reply to that? I simply shook my head in wonder. Of course, among others, we mentioned Teddy Bairstow. He and his crew had not been so fortunate. Nor had Doug Langley, whose grave I found, quite by accident, in a quiet cemetery in norther Holland a short time afterwards.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I returned to Binbrook after many years. But only to the village. I had already found the Market Hotel in Grimsby where I went so often with my crew. I had stood for several minutes, looking up at the windows of the rooms we used to have, and remembering kindly Edna, who treated us like sons. Remembering Col, and Mick, and Johnnie, of my original crew. Remembering Cookie, our skipper, and Mac, our rear gunner, the Canadians among us. Thinking of the man I never knew, Rae, the man who had taken my place, the man who had died instead of me.
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When I arrived at Binbrook, I found I could barely contain my emotion. I recovered myself to some extent while I drank a cup of coffee in the Marquis of Granby, the well-remembered pub in the village. I stood for a long time at the top of the hill, on the road which led down into the valley and up again to the now deserted and silent aerodrome. I stood, remembering again, seeing, across the distance, visions of the Wellingtons I and my friends had flown, parked in their dispersals, the movement of men around them, and their faces, hearing their long-stilled voices. But I could go no closer to them than that. There were too many memories, too many ghosts.
On that fine morning the images of mortality were too real to be borne.
. . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Tony [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] TONY [/underlined]
At the time when I subscribed to ‘Readers’ Digest’ there would appear in each issue a short article entitled ‘The Most Unforgettable Character I Have Ever Met’. I find that this description could fittingly apply to Tony Payne.
When I had the privilege of knowing him, Tony, at the age of 21, was already a veteran in terms of ability and experience, looked up to almost in reverence as one of the elite pilots on the Squadron.
And whenever I recall the Officers’ Mess at Binbrook with its high-ceilinged anteroom just across the main corridor from the dining room, with the eternal, homely smell of coffee from the big urn near to the door, I can visualise Tony as he was so often, standing slightly to one side of the fire, pewter tankard in hand, holding court, as it were, the focal point of all eyes and conversation, eternally smiling and cheerful, his crisp, clear voice sounding above the music from the worn record on the radiogram which would be softly playing a catchy little tune, a favourite of his, called ‘The Cuckoo’. I have never heard it, or heard of it, even, since that time, but I could never forget it, as it was almost Tony’s signature tune. But Tony was entering the last six months of his life.
He had the gift of holding everyone’s attention by his witty observations on most things operational – and non-operational, his words rolling brightly and optimistically off his tongue, his eyes shining with the pleasure of living for the moment, and that moment alone, of good company and comradeship.
Once we were discussing a particular trip. (They were always ‘trips’, occasionally ‘ops’ but never ‘sorties’ or ‘missions’). Someone was describing our attempts to locate some target in Germany one night recently. There had been only sporadic gunfire aimed at us whn [sic] we arrived at about 20,000 feet, and that gunfire, we knew, was not necessarily from the immediate area of the target.
“What did you think about it, Tony?” someone asked. Tony beamed at the question, leaned slightly forward and declaimed with mock solemnity and a judicial air, “Ah! Then I knew that something was afoot!” he said.
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Among his many friends, or ‘familiars’ as they might have once been known, (a description singularly appropriate), was the Senior Flying Control Officer (or ‘Regional Control Officer’ in the terminology then in force) Flight Lieutenant Bradshaw, “Bradders” to everyone. He was old enough to be Tony’s and our father, a World War I pilot beribboned with the ‘Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’ campaign ribbons of that conflict, slightly portly, fairly short in stature, of equable temperament and genial in manner, his iron-grey to white hair meticulously trimmed. A great deal of repartee was invariably exchanged by the two, doubtless born of their mutual affection despite the disparity in their ages.
To our delight one day, Tony hurried into the anteroom in a state of high glee, carrying a small, brown-paper wrapped parcel the size of a large book.
“Wait till you see this, you types!” he crowed to his audience, which included Bradders, who was as intrigued as the rest of us. Tony slowly, tantalisingly slowly, unwrapped his mysterious parcel then dramatically held up its contents for all to see. It was a gilt-framed oil painting of a side-whiskered old man in a country churchyard, his foot upon the shoulder of a spade, a battered old felt hat on his head. The frame bore the title – ‘Old Bradshaw, the village sexton’. It brought the house down and it was ceremoniously hung on the anteroom wall near to the portrait of Flying Officer Donald Garland, one of the Squadron’s two posthumous Victoria Cross recipients, and near also to the mounted fox’s head, our Squadron badge, which had been presented to ‘Abey’, Squadron Leader Abraham, our Flight Commander, on his posting from a Polish O.T.U. where he had been instructing, to 12 Squadron.
At about this time the Air Ministry commissioned Eric Kennington, a noted war artist, to make portraits of outstanding aircrew members, many in Bomber Command, and Tony was one of those selected to sit for him. He sat in his usual place at one end of the anteroom fireplace while Kennington went about his work. The Mess kept a respectful silence while this was proceeding, conversing only in whispers and never attempting to peer over the artist’s shoulder. Some time later, the finished portrait was hung in a place of honour on the wall, to Tony’s laughing embarrassment.
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It was only within these last few years that during a telephone conversation with Eric, my friend, fellow-survivor and table tennis and billiards opponent of those days, who had been Squadron Leader Abraham’s Observer when they were shot down over Denmark, that he asked me if I remembered Tony’s portrait, and whether I knew what happened to it. I confessed that I had almost forgotten about it and did not have any idea what had become of it. But his question touched off in me a desire to find out. It seemed logical that in the first instance I should consult my local Library to see whether they might possibly have any book of the Kennington portraits. It did have such a book, and they brought it out to me. Unfortunately, Tony’s likeness was not among the hundred or so reproduced, but he was mentioned in the index of all the portraits which the artist had undertaken. Where next? I decided that the obvious next step was to contact the R.A.F. Museum at Hendon. There I struck gold. They had the original portrait in storage and swiftly sent me a photo-copy. I obtained two copies, one of which I sent to Eric. Today, a sizeable and well-produced copy of Tony’s portrait hang on my wall where I can look on it with a mixture of affection, pleasure and great sadness, as well as a sense of honour that such a fine man and such a fine pilot could have wanted me to join his crew. I was more than a little surprised when he did so and have often wondered what prompted him to approach me. It was prior to his finishing his first tour, and I have described the incident and its calamitous sequel in the next chapter.
His crew, on his first tour with us, must truly have been quite exceptional. To have completed their tour made them exceptional enough. The chances of that were a considerable way short of evens. There was an example of their ‘press on regardless’ spirit and of the brilliant navigation of Tony’s Observer, Sergeant Dooley, a dapper, smiling little Englishman, on one of our trips to Kiel to bomb the pocket-battleship Gneisenau.
We rarely had an accurate Met. forecast on the trips we did in that winter of 1941-42, and on this night the conditions turned out to be worse than even the Met. Officer had forecast. We took off in the darkness and gloom and entered heavy cloud at 600 feet We climbed
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steadily out over the North Sea but at 20,500 feet we had still not reached clear air. With our bomb load we could climb no higher. We were somewhere in the top of the cloud mass, the moon a faint blur of light on our starboard bow. Below and around us were numerous gun-flashes from the flak defences of Kiel, and as obtaining a visual pinpoint was obviously impossible we bombed the centre of the flak concentration. We turned for home, still in cloud. After over three hours of manual flying, concentrating solely on the instrument panel in front of me, and losing height slowly down to 1,000 feet, I became aware that we had finally reached the cloudbase. Then to my relief and delight I pinpointed Spurn Head, our crossing-in point, about four miles to starboard, and saw the four red obstruction lights of the radar station near Cleethorpes dead ahead. We heartily congratulated Col on his navigation – seven hours plus in cloud and only four miles off track at the end of it.
But Sergeant Dooley and Tony had outshone us. Like us, finding the target in Kiel docks completely cloud-covered he had refused the opportunity to bomb blind as most of us had done. They set course for the Baltic Sea, topped the cloud and found moonlight – and stars. Flying straight and level, which one had to do to take astro-shots of the various stars on the astrograph chart, and which one could safely do over the sea, but which was a most unhealthy undertaking over hostile territory, Sergeant Dooley obtained an astro fix of their exact position. He then plotted a dead-reckoning track and course to the target, some distance away, and when their E.T.A. was up, bombed on that. The Squadron Navigation Officer subsequently re-plotted his whole log and found that they had been ‘spot-on’ the target. Such was the ability and experience of Tony and his crew.
When his tour was finally over and he had a well-deserved D.F.C. to his credit he was posted away to some hush-hush job at an aerodrome on Salisbury Plain, and both the Mess and B Flight Office were the poorer and less colourful for his going.
My final meeting with him before my posting and his shockingly unexpected and untimely death was a few weeks after he had left the Squadron at the end of his tour. He appeared one day, cheerful and unchanged as ever, in the anteroom one lunchtime. He had flown up,
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unofficially, one guessed, in a small, twin-engined trainer. He was, he told us, flying all sorts of kites, at all sorts of heights, mostly over the Channel. He alleged that ‘they’, whoever they might be, and he did nothing to enlighten us on that, even wanted him to fly inverted on occasions. Beyond that he said nothing, and we did not ask him too many questions. He mentioned that although he had flown up to see us in the Oxford, one of the several aircraft at the secret establishment, he would have preferred something else – “I wanted to come in the Walrus”, he chuckled, naming an antiquated and noisy single-pusher-engined flying boat, usually operated by the Fleet Air Arm.
“I’d love to have taxied up to the Watch Office and chucked the anchor out!”
He left us after a cheerful lunch and went for ever out of my life, for which I am greatly the poorer.
It seems that he came back to 12, without a crew, for a second tour and was insistent on taking part in the first 1,000 bomber raid, that on Cologne, with a completely new crew. His was the first aircraft to be shot down that night. It happened over the outskirts of Amsterdam. How he came to be there will always remain a mystery to me, as the route planned for that night to Cologne lay over the estuary of the Scheldt, mush [sic] further south, its numerous islands providing invaluable pinpoints.
He and all his crew are buried in beautifully tended graves in a shady part of Amsterdam’s New Eastern Cemetery, which I have several times visited.
On one visit to Amsterdam I had contacted a Dutchman who had formed part of the team of volunteers who had excavated the remains of C-Charlie, Tony’s aircraft on that fatal night in May 1942. I was able to visit the crash site in the suburb of Badhoevedorp. A small museum of remembrance had been created in some old underground fortifications on the outskirts of the city where were reverently displayed several small identifiable components of the aircraft, as well as one or two pathetic personal belongings of the crew. I was offered, and accepted, a small section of the geodetic construction of the Wellington and this now has a place of honour in my living room, where Tony, from his portrait, appears to be looking down upon it.
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[inserted] [underlined] Mind you don’t scratch the paint [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] MIND YOU DON’T SCRATCH THE PAINT [/underlined]
After what happened that night to his beloved Z-Zebra when we, for the first and only time, were being allowed to fly it on ops, I could have quite understood if Tony had never wanted to have anything to do with me, or with any of the crew, again.
But instead, after it was all over, for some time afterwards, whenever he happened to see me in the anteroom there would come into his eyes a gleam of what I could only interpret as amusement, but something more besides; this was a look of amusement mingled with a knowledge and appreciation of our good fortune, the look which perhaps a proud parent gives to his offspring as he sees him emerge from the last obstacle of a tricky course in the school sports and run triumphantly towards the finishing line, a “by-God-you’ve-done-it” look. A fanciful idea maybe, but the more I look back on it, the more I am sure that was what it was.
It was when we had already done a handful of ops, I remember, and when he himself must have been well on towards finishing his tour – remarkable enough in itself – and quite some while after the events which led to his, and our, final trip in ‘Z’ that he caught my eye and beckoned me over, one day when there was no flying, in the mess at Binbrook. He and I were both standing among the small crowd of aircrew officers near the fireplace, tankards in our hands, nearly all of us smoking, under the gaze of the portrait of Donald Garland, V.C., and of the fox’s mask mounted on its wooden shield.
And when I had made my way towards him he paid me a great and surprising compliment, he who was without doubt one of the finest of the many fine pilots on the Squadron.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
But the story, of course, starts some time before that, when we were very much the new boys, before I and the rest of the crew had been blooded on ops. When we had arrived on the Squadron from our Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourn, Elmer, my co-pilot,
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had been allocated to Mike Duder’s crew, while the rest of us had been taken over, as it were, by Ralph, a pilot who had a few ops already to his credit. We settled down comfortably enough with him and went through the final stages of our familiarisation and training on the Mark II Wellington in preparation for our first operation together. This landmark in one’s flying career was something which I, at any rate, had looked forward to – if that is the correct form of words – with a mixture of curiosity, awe and a certain degree of apprehension tinged with excitement; I regarded it as a large step into a completely unknown world. Just how hazardous a step it would turn out to be I was soon to discover.
At that time, my logbook tells me, we had no aircraft which we could really regard as our own, perhaps because we were a fresher crew, I don’t know. However, we had flown seven different aircraft since joining ‘B’ Flight. One morning we reported as usual, to the Flights. I had the privilege of using, along with others, Abey’s, our Flight Commander’s, office as a sort of mini-crewroom. It was late November and we sat around talking, shop mostly, until about ten o’clock, when Abey’s phone rang. All conversation stopped. We knew what it would be – either another stand-down, or a target. It was a target, for freshers only. It would not be named until briefing that afternoon, of course, but I was fairly certain it would be one of the French Channel ports.
Abey nodded to me pleasantly and said, “Let the rest of your crew know, will you?” Then he looked quickly at the blackboard fixed to the wall facing him and said, “Look, I think you’d better take Z-Zebra, Tony’s aircraft – he’s off to Buck House tomorrow to collect his gong from the King.”
Tony Payne wasn’t in the Flight Office at the time, I suppose he had been told by Abey that he wouldn’t be required in any case; an appointment with His Majesty would naturally take priority over anything. So it was lunchtime when we’d done our quite uneventful night flying test on ‘Z’, that I saw him in the Mess. Or rather, that he saw me, and made a bee-line for me.
“What’s this I hear, then?” he asked.
I grinned at him.
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“You mean about Z-Zebra?”
“Yes, I mean about Z-Zebra. My Z-Zebra. You’re not actually going to fly my kite, are you? On ops? God!”
There was a look of mock-horror on his face.
“Well, that’s what Abey said, so that’s what we’re doing. Don’t worry, Tony, we won’t bend it, or anything.”
“Bend it? You’d better not! If you so much as scratch the paint I shall deal with you all personally, one at a time, when you come back, you mark my words!”
We both knew he was kidding, but I knew, too, that ‘Z’ was the apple of Tony’s eye and that it had served him well. I hoped that it would serve as [sic] well, too.
Briefing was in the early afternoon. I cannot recall that there were many of us there, three crews at most is my recollection. The target was Cherbourg docks, time on target 2100 to 2130, bomb-load seven five hundred pounders, high explosive, route Base – Reading – Bognor Regis – target and return the same way. I felt nothing other than curious anticipation, once the time of take-off drew nearer. I think the thought that we were in ‘Z’ boosted my morale. Tony’s aircraft must be good, for he was good, the best. That followed; ‘Z’ wouldn’t let us down. The trip was going to be, if not the proverbial piece of cake, then quite O.K., quite straightforward, a nice one to start us off, of that I was confident.
It was a Saturday evening and dusk was falling as I went up to the Flights and opened my locker in Abey’s office. He was there, of course, looking quietly on at the small handful of us putting on our kit for the op. I started to struggle into my flying kit. Roll-necked sweater under my tunic, brown padded inner suit from neck to ankle, like a tightly fitting eiderdown, old school scarf, which, while I would never have admitted it, was my good-luck talisman. Pale green, slightly faded canvas outer flying suit with fur collar, wool-lined leather flying boots, parachute harness, Mae West and, lastly, ‘chute and helmet, which I carried. I checked that I had the issued silk handkerchief, printed very finely with a map of France, just in case, and I touched the reassuring small miniature compass,
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sewn into my brevet, another aid to evasion if forced to bale out.
I joined Ralph and the lads in the hangar. There was a continuous buzz of conversation, the odd burst of laughter. Ralph was smiling with rather forced cheerfulness, no doubt wondering how his new crew would cope. Col, our Aussie Observer, looked more sallow than usual and was chewing gum rapidly. His Australian twang, when he spoke, was more pronounced, it seemed to me. Mick, the wireless op., looked worried, as usual, and said nothing, while Tommy, our rear gunner, was completely unconcerned and grinning from ear to ear. Johnnie, who would occupy the front turret, was his calm and quite imperturbable self, almost, I realised, the complete antithesis of Tommy.
Ralph said quickly, “Let’s go, then,” and we strolled out of the chilly, pale blue lighting of the hangar into the darkness. We climbed awkwardly into the waiting crew-bus parked on the perimeter track. A half moon was beginning to show, flitting in and out of the scattered clouds which were drifting out to sea from off the Lincolnshire Wolds. It was cold, and despite my flying kit, I shivered a little. Col was still chewing stolidly, his face expressionless. There was a little desultory conversation as the bus rolled towards the dispersals, but the night’s op was not mentioned.
“Z-Zebra,” called the W.A.A.F. driver through the little window at the front of the bus. We started to clamber stiffly down the back steps, reluctant to leave the companionable shelter of the vehicle.
“Have a good trip!”
Someone from another crew shouted the conventional but oddly reassuring words, which were invariably used to send a crew on their way.
“You too,” one of us replied.
Z-Zebra loomed over us in the semi-darkness. The crew bus rumbled away. The silence was intense, almost tangible. The ground-crew stood around, blowing on their hands and beating their arms around their bodies against the cold. There were muted greetings. Col and I walked several yards away from the kite, lit cigarettes from my case and took a dozen or so quick draws before stamping them out.
“Come on, let’s get started,” I muttered, and we clambered up the red ladder which jutted down from Z’s nose. Johnnie was handing
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the pigeon in its ventilated box carefully up to Mick.
We struggled in, heavily and clumsily, each to his position. I hoisted myself over the main spar and stood in the astrodome, reaching down to plug in my intercom lead, and I found the hot-air hose, aiming it to blow on to my body once the engines had been started. The port engine suddenly stammered and roared into life, then the starboard. We heard Ralph blow twice into his mike to test the intercom, then he spoke.
“Everyone O.K? Harry?”
“O.K., skip,” I said.
“Col?”
“Yeah, skip.”
“Mick?”
O.K.”
“Johnnie?”
“O.K., skipper.” Johnnie was always punctilious and correct.
“Tommy? All right at the back there?”
“Yes, fine, skip.”
“Right, I’ll take it there and do the bombing run, Harry, you can bring us back.”
“O.K., skip,” I said.
Ralph’s mike clicked off. There was an increased roar from the port enging, [sic] shaking the whole kite, then from the starboard, as Ralph ran them up, checking the power, the magnetos, the oil pressure and the engine temperatures. The kite was shivering like a nervous racehorse at the starting gate, waiting for the off. A lull, then I felt a lurch as we moved slowly out of dispersal. The hangars, topped by their red obstruction lights, slid by, then we were at the end of the runway in use. Behind us I could see the nav. lights of the other aircraft which were to share the night sky with us over Cherbourg. A green Alldis light flashed directly on to us – dah, dah, di-di, - Z.
“You’ve got your green, skipper,” I said. We were on our way.
“O.K., here we go, hold on to your hats.”
Johnnie appeared alongside me and grinned rather wolfishly; the front
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gunner went into his turret only when we were safely airborne. Ralph opened up the throttles against the brakes to lift the tail a little. Z-Zebra jerked and strained, then suddenly we surged forward, the engines howling. The Drem lighting of the flarepath smudged past, faster and faster as we charged down the runway. The bar of lights with the two goose-neck flares at the far end slid towards us, then suddenly all vibration ceased; we were airborne, we were on our way.
Johnnie gave me the thumbs-up and vanished up front to go into his turret. In a few seconds he called up to say he was in position. I felt and heard Ralph throttling back to settle into the long climb to operational height; we would aim to be at 20,000 feet over the target. He began a turn to port to bring us back over the centre of the aerodrome to set course accurately for Reading.
The night was clear, some cloud showing vaguely out to sea, a blaze of stars everywhere, with the half moon as yet low on the port beam. There were several flashing red beacons to be seen, scattered over the dim landscape like lurid and sinister fireflies, but no-one bothered to read their Morse letters on the way out; coming home, it would be another matter, they would be looked for and read as eagerly as one used to read the familiar names on railway stations on the way back from a holiday. From the astrodome the mainplanes were pale in the faint moonlight, the exhaust stubs glowed redly. The rudder was a tall finger behind us, under which sat Tommy in his turret, a lonely place. I could see the guns rotating from side to side as he kept watch. There was little sensation of height or speed as the engines roared steadily under climbing power, the passage of time seemed suspended and there was a sense of complete detachment from the earth and from all things on it. Conversation was limited to the essential minimum.
Ralph came up, eventually, on the intercom.
“Oxygen on, please, Harry, ten thousand feet.”
I acknowledged, unplugged my intercom and left my position, going forward over the main spar to where just behind the Observer’s compartment the oxygen bottles were in racks up on the port side of the
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fuselage. I screwed open the valves on each one and returned to the astrodome.
“Oxygen on, skipper.”
I plugged in the bayonet fitting of my oxygen tube to the nearest socket and clipped the mask on my helmet securely to cover my nose and mouth. After a while, “Glow on the deck, dead ahead, skipper,” Johnnie said. I went forward quickly to stand beside Ralph.
“Looks like Reading,” I said, “they always did have a lousy blackout. See those two lines of lights? The railway station. Wouldn’t that slay you? I don’t know how they don’t get bombed to hell.”
“Useful for us, anyhow,” Ralph replied, “we’re dead on track and two minutes to E.T.A., too. Good for you, Col,” he called.
The faint glow of Reading vanished under the nose. The moon was a bit higher now. Col gave the new course for Bognor. I took a deep breath of oxygen and holding it in my lungs as long as I could, went back to the astrodome. Tommy spoke up, rather fractiously.
“Bloody cold back here.”
“Shut up a minute, Tommy,” I heard Mick say, “I’m listening out to Group.”
No-one spoke for a while. Then I caught a glimpse of a white flashing beacon to starboard. These were very useful; Observers kept a list of them coded with their actual Latitude and Longitude positions. I switched on my mike.
“Occult flashing R Robert about five miles to starboard, Col,” I said.
Then, “That’s peculiar,” I thought, “I didn’t hear my own voice saying that.”
I checked my intercom switch and repeated what I’d said. Still nothing. I moved over to the intercom point at the flarechute and plugged in. I blew into my mike – dead as mutton. Taking a gulp of oxygen I went forward to Col’s desk and banged him on the shoulder. He looked up in surprise. I undid his helmet and shouted in his ear.
“Is your intercom working?”
He thumbed the switch and I saw his lips moving. Then he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
“Bloody thing’s crook,” he shouted.
After another gulp of oxygen I went forward to yell in Ralph’s ear.
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“Intercom’s u/s!”
I saw Ralph check his mike, then he nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down ruefully.
“Not a sausage,” he shouted, “see if Mick can fix it.”
I pushed through the door into Mick’s compartment. He beat me to it.
“Intercom’s u/s, R/T, too.”
“See if you can fix it!”
Mick nodded.
I went forward again to Ralph, who had scribbled a note on a message pad.
‘If no joy in 15 min. we jettison and abort.’
Without the intercom we would be completely cut off from one another, an impossible situation. I settled into the second pilot’s position alongside Ralph, thinking that I might as well stay up front for a while. Ralph was writing something again, letting the trimmers fly the aircraft while he did so.
‘Tell the gunners,’ I read, and gave him the thumbs-up. More oxygen, then I ducked under the instrument panel, past the bomb-sight, treading gingerly on the bottom escape hatch, and quickly opened the front turret doors.
My God, I thought, it’s freezing cold in here.
Johnnie twisted himself round and looked at me questioningly.
“Intercom’s gone for a Burton,” I shouted, “we may have to scrub it.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
Half way back down the fuselage I saw the rear turret doors opening and Tommy emerged, slightly red in the face.
“My bloody intercom’s u/s,” he shouted, looking aggrieved.
I told him the situation quickly and he went back into his turret. I bent over Mick, who was fiddling with the intricacies of the radio equipment.
“Any joy?” I shouted.
Mick grimaced and shook his head.
“Keep trying, Mick.”
When I went back to Ralph he leaned over and shouted, “If Mick can’t fix it by Bognor, we’ll jettison ten miles out to sea and go home.”
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I wrote a note for Col and passed it to him. I was already hoarse with shouting and tired from moving around the aircraft on scanty oxygen.
Still we climbed. Bognor was now below us, I could distinguish the shape of the south coast, the Isle of Wight. Col came forward and made book-opening movements of his hands to Ralph who nodded and selected the bomb-door switch to ‘open’. Col ducked down to the bombsight. I wondered idly whether there were any convoys below; even though the bombs would be dropped ‘safe’ they wouldn’t like five hundred pounds of solid metal from this height. There was a slight shudder as the bombs went. Col came back.
“Bloody waste,” he shouted.
Ralph nodded as he closed the bomb-doors.
He shouted to me, “We might as well get down lower where we can come off oxygen. Get a course from Col, will you?”
I did so and set it on the compass for Ralph, who did a wide turn to port, losing height steadily. The altimeter slowly unwound.
When we passed through ten thousand feet I turned off the bottles and went the rounds of the crew, telling each one we were on the way home. Their reactions were muted, impassive. Soon we were down to two thousand feet, droning over the dim November landscape. There were no beacons to be seen anywhere in this area. I stood alongside Ralph, wondering if I would get a chance to fly ‘Z’ soon, but perhaps he didn’t like the thought of passing messages himself; the journey from front turret to rear, for example, was a bit of an obstacle race.
Quite suddenly, I noticed that the starboard engine temperature was up. I tapped Ralph on the arm and pointed to it. He nodded slowly, we droned onwards. I looked out of my side window, through the arc of the propeller, mere inches away, at the starboard engine. Was it my imagination, or was there a whitish mist streaming back from it? Ralph had levelled off at a thousand feet. Col came in and handed him a note of E.TA. Reading. The starboard engine temperature was higher, and now the oil pressure was decidedly down, too.
We’ve got trouble, damn it, I thought, and I saw there was now
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no doubt at all about the trail of vapour from the engine.
“Looks like a glycol leak,” I told Ralph, who stared grimly ahead and nodded. Then he turned to me.
“Get Mick on the W/T to base, returning early, intercom and R/T u/s, glycol leak starboard engine.”
I gave him the thumbs-up, seized a message pad and wrote it down, then went aft and handed it to Mick, who was sitting glumly at his table. He looked at the note, raised his eyebrows and frowned, then started to tap out the message on the Morse key.
Up front again I saw that the vapour leak from the engine was now streaked with red, and angry looking sparks were flying back over the engine nacelle and the trailing edge of the mainplane. I nudged Ralph, who leaned over to look, then grimaced. Now, the engine temperature was very high and the oil pressure had slumped even further. Z-Zebra was in real trouble. As is the way in flying, events thereafter moved in a downward spiral from bad to desperate with sickening rapidity. A lick of flame spat out of the engine, over the starboard mainplane, then horrifyingly, like the tail of a rocket, the flame shot back towards the rear turret.
“Fire!” I yelled in Ralph’s ear.
I pressed the extinguisher button on the instrument panel. Ralph chopped the starboard throttle back and hauled the wheel over to counteract the lurch and swing. I looked at the flames which were now pouring out of the duff engine, over the cowling and the trailing edge of the mainplane. Suddenly Tommy appeared at my side.
“Hey! There’s a hell of a lot of sparks flying past my turret!”
“Yes, we’re on fire, but we’re trying to get it out,” I shouted back at him.
Tommy’s eyes opened wide when he saw the blazing engine.
“Jesus bloody Christ,” he said, in awe.
We were now below 1000 feet. Ralph had opened up the port engine to try to maintain height, but we were turning slowly to starboard the whole time. I thought about the best part of 375 gallons of petrol in the starboard wing-tank, then about the western edge of London and its balloon barrage, somewhere very close to us. We
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were in one hell of a mess, I thought, and it began to dawn on me that the situation could well kill us all. I tried not to think too hard about that. Ralph was wrestling with Z-Zebra, trying to keep it on some sort of a course, but it appeared to be useless.
“Poop off some reds,” he yelled, “and look out for a flarepath!”
I hurried aft.
“Put the I.F.F. on Stud 3,” I shouted to Mick, above the howl of the good engine, and nodding glumly, Mick switched to this distress frequency which would show up as a distinctively shaped trace on all ground radar sets. I quickly found some double-red Verey cartridges and got the signal pistol down from its fixture in the roof of the fuselage. I loaded the cartridges and shot them off one at a time.
“Can’t do much more now,” I said to myself, and hoped for the sight of a flarepath, a directing searchlight, or anything that would help us. I went forward again. We were still losing height and I realised that we were too low to bale out. But the fire had died down and I sighed with relief at that. The prop windmilled slowly and uselessly. I wished that Z-Zebra had been fitted with propeller feathering devices, but it was useless wishing thoughts like that. I peered intently at the starboard wing; there didn’t seem to be any fire there, thank God, otherwise we would simply blow up in mid-air and that would be that. Now, the immediate problem was how we were going to get back on to the ground in approximately one piece; there wasn’t a flarepath or a beacon to be seen anywhere.
I felt completely helpless and at the mercy of a capricious and malignant fate which I could do nothing to influence. It was like being in a paper bag going down a waterfall. Ralph’s face was grim as he struggled to keep straight and to maintain altitude. I heaved a length of wrapped elastic from my parachute stowage and tied the wheel fully over to the left, to take the load off Ralph a little. He nodded his thanks. Another length of elastic; I tied the rudder bar over to the geodetics. That was all I could do.
I looked out again. Still no sign of friendly lights and the treetops were looking damned close now. The port engine exhaust stubs were bright red due to the punishment the engine was taking and I knew it was just a matter of minutes before we hit something. I thought, “This is a hell of a shaky do.” Then, ahead, I saw an interruption in the dark skyline and I was puzzled as to what it
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could be. I took a glance as [sic] the A.S.I., just under 100 m.p.h., much too near stalling speed for comfort. I hardly dared look at the altimeter, it showed a mere 200 feet now. The curious, dim outlines on the skyline grew slowly larger as we staggered on. That was about it, Z-Zebra was simply staggering along and sinking through the air, almost on the point of stalling, when we would drop like a stone. I was holding the wheel over to port, helping Ralph all I could. Keep height and we lost speed; keep speed and we lost height. That was the quite hopeless situation.
The jagged skyline, which was now beginning to fill the windscreen, resolved itself horrifyingly, in the dim moonlight, into buildings. A town, and worst of all, a town with a tall, thick chimney, dead ahead.
“Jesus Christ,” I thought, “we’ve bloody well had it now, we’re going to hit that bloody chimney.”
100 feet on the altimeter. Now we were over the town, churning over the roofs at 90 miles an hour. The streets looked so close that I could have put out a hand to touch them. The chimney loomed nearer, the black roofs skated away behind us, apparently just below the floor of the fuselage. I thought of the people in those houses, cringing as they heard the hideous noise just above their heads, praying that the aircraft wouldn’t hit them in a cataclysm of bricks, rubble and blazing petrol. I was sweating as I frantically heaved at the wheel to try to help Ralph. His eyes were staring as though he were hypnotised by the sight of the chimney. With agonising slowness it slid towards us, slightly to starboard now, it seemed, then just beyond the starboard wingtip, a handful of yards away. I shut my eyes for a second, hardly daring to believe that we had missed it.
“Thank Christ for that!” I yelled at Ralph. We were over open fields again. Ralph shouted desperately, “I’ll have to put it down soon, get them into crash positions!”
I hurried to the front turret, collected Johnnie, who was as pleasant and imperturbable as though he was sitting in an armchair in the Mess. he would have had a grandstand view of the whole thing, up to now. Together, we grabbed Mick and Col. The three of them lay on the floor of the fuselage, hands clasped behind their necks.
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I hurried, stumbling, to the rear turret and wrenched open the doors.
“Crash landing, any minute now!” I yelled at Tommy. He would sit tight, his was the safest place in the kite in this situation. I almost envied him. I rushed forward again and took a final glance out of the windscreen. We were at treetop level. Then I went back to join Mick, Col and Johnnie. There was not enough room for me to lie down, so I stood sideways on, taking a firm grip on the geodetics, and hoped for the best.
Suddenly the port engine was throttled right back. This was it, I thought. A few seconds’ silence, which seemed like a month, then a tremendous impact. A cool smell of newly-torn earth filled the aircraft. I hear, unbelievably, a long burst of machine gun fire and could see red tracer flying ahead of us. I couldn’t think what was going on; surely we weren’t being shot at? The kite bucketed along, everything twisting and grinding, the deceleration fantastic. I could hardly stay upright. The smell of ploughed earth was beautiful, almost intoxicating. I hung on grimly, and after what seemed an age, we finally lurched to a halt. For an instant there was total, blissful silence.
“Everyone out, quick!” I shouted.
The three of them hurried forward where I could see Ralph’s legs vanishing through the escape hatch above the pilot’s seat. Tommy came staggering from the rear of the fuselage, clutching his forehead.
“You O.K.?” I asked him.
“Hit me bloody head on some broken sodding geodetics,” he said angrily.
“Hurry up and get out in case the bloody kite goes up,” I said urgently, and I pushed him forward, ahead of me. He climbed out of the top hatch via the pilot’s seat; I was hard on his heels. I could hear Johnnie telling someone, in his clear, modulated voice, that he had forgotten to put the safety-catch of his guns on to ‘safe’, the impact of the crash had set them firing. I hoped vaguely that no-one had been hurt. It was years later that I learned that one bullet had gone through a child’s bedroom window as her mother was putting her to bed; the bullet had embedded itself in the mattress without harming the little girl.
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I followed Tommy up and out. I was swinging my legs over the edge of the escape hatch, on to the top of Z-Zebra, when I saw a spurt of flame from the port engine. The strain had been too much for it.
“Port engine’s on fire!” I shouted to them, “get to hell out of it!”
I jumped back inside the cockpit, quickly found the port fire-extinguisher button and jabbed my thumb hard on it, swearing softly under my breath. Then I clambered out again, found the port mainplane under my feet and walked down it on to the field.
The aircraft looked like a landed whale, its props bent grotesquely backwards, its back dismally broken, with the rudder towering up at an odd angle, its wings now spread uselessly across the stubble and the broad rut which we had gouged out of the field trailing back towards the hedge, between some tall trees. The crew were grouped together twenty yards away.
“Come on, Harry!” someone shouted.
A man was running over the field towards us, I could see the steam of his panting breaths in the moonlight as he got nearer and heard him excitedly saying something about ‘the biggest field in the district’. The moon shone palely through the trees which we had missed and the air was sweet as wine. I lit a cigarette and joined the others.
“Are you O.K.?” Col asked. I nodded.
“Bloody fine landing, Ralph,” I said, “damn good show.”
We followed the man over the stubble, towards the broken hedge, then to an Auxiliary Fire Station on the outskirts of St. Albans, where we had come down.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“Look,” Tony said confidentially, “you know I’ve got …… as my co-pilot?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering what was coming next.
“Well, between you and me, I’m really not all that happy with him. Would you like to come into my crew? I can fix it with Abey, if you would.”
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When I recovered from my astonishment it didn’t take me long to decide. I shook my head.
“No, thanks, Tony, no, really, I wouldn’t want to leave my own crew, you know.”
“Oh, well, I can quite understand that. I just thought - . But if you do change your mind, there’s a place for you with me, any time.”
I thanked him. I have never forgotten the honour he did me.
As I have said, Tony took the wrecking of Z-Zebra quite well, all things being considered. Shortly afterwards, he finished his tour. His crew were posted away, while he himself went on to some hush-hush flying, somewhere on Salisbury Plain, we heard, involving several different types of aircraft. It was something, we guessed, in connection with the development of radar and its applications. He paid us a visit once, in an Anson.
“I wanted to come up in a Walrus,” he said, naming a slow, noisy and out-of-date small flying-boat, “and throw out the anchor in front of the Watch Office!”
We had a jocular half hour with him in front of the ante-room fire.
Tony Payne came back to the Squadron for his second tour of ops. He took a new crew, on their first trip, on the Thousand Bomber raid on Cologne. His was the first aircraft to be shot down that night. He was hit by flak over Ijmuiden, on the Dutch Coast and the aircraft blew up over Badhoevedorp, on the outskirts of Amsterdam, killing him and the whole crew. They are buried together in a beautiful shady spot in Amsterdam East Cemetery, their graves lovingly kept and cared for. I have visited the place where they fell; I have seen the place where they now lie at peace. Most of the aircraft was salvaged recently by some caring Dutch people, and I have a fragment of it on my bookshelf, to remind me of the man that was Tony. Not that I need much reminding.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Rabbie [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] RABBIE [/underlined]
He was the sort of bloke one took to automatically if one was of a fairly quiet disposition, for he himself was quiet almost to the point of being self-effacing. On the ground, that is. But in the air – well, that was another matter. On the evidence that I had, at least, it seemed that another side of his nature took over.
In build, he was perhaps an inch or so taller than me, well made, with rather thick, limp, fairish hair, quite piercingly blue eyes and a mobile mouth which always carried the trace of a smile, as though he were laughing inwardly at some secret joke. His manner of speaking was strange until you got used to it; he would start a sentence then lower his eyes almost apologetically, as though he were afraid you were becoming bored with what he was saying. His voice was quite deep, very quiet, and his utterances were staccato, like short bursts of machine-gun fire, punctuated by little nervous laughs, almost sniggers. Now and again he would stammer slightly, and now and again a trace of his native soft Scots accent would ripple the surface of his halting, quietly spoken sentences.
It was I who first called him Rabbie, on account of this inflexion of voice, which, when he became animated, would show more prominently. I think he secretly rather liked the name; there weren’t many Scotsmen on the Squadron as far as I knew, and certainly, there weren’t many in ‘B’ Flight. We became friendly, and although on stand-down trips to G.Y., as we invariably called Grimsby, crews usually went as crews, on nights when we stayed in the Mess he and I, more often than not, would gravitate together, along with Eric. Possible because the three of us where a shade quieter types than, say, Tony or Teddy Bairstow.
I don’t know how it came about that I flew to Pershore with him – he had done his O.T.U. there, it seemed, and on a stand-down day he got permission from Abey to do a cross-country there. He must have asked me if I would like a ride; anyhow, I went along with him. He had his own co-pilot, Sandy, with him, and his crew. It was then I discovered the other side of Rabbie. I had only been on the Squadron a fortnight and everything was new and a bit strange.
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Rabbie and most of the others were comparatively old hands, and whereas I was a strictly-by-the-book pilot, I soon found that there were others who weren’t. Like that day, when I flew with Rabbie. One normally did cross-countries at a sober and sedate height, say between two and six thousand feet. Perhaps for a few minutes, now and again, one might have a crazy fit and beat up a train or something or other, but unauthorised low flying was a Court Martial offence, and all pilots had been repeatedly warned of that fact ever since they started flying at E.F.T.S.
We went off in Barred C, Abey’s own aircraft, and once we’d cleared the circuit, quite simply, it was a hundred feet maximum all the way. To begin with, I was shaken rigid, I’d never known anything quite like it; such sustained, hair-raising excitement, spiced with the occasional bad fright. Trees, villages, hills, hedges, they all streamed by; very little was said among the crew. When I’d collected my scattered wits and realised that this was second nature to all of them, I began to enjoy it a little more. We landed at Pershore, Rabbie said hello to one or two old friends, we lunched, took off again and came back at the same height, all the way. I was getting used to it by this time, but I still swallowed hard once or twice.
When we had landed and taxied in I came down the ladder after most of them. Rabbie and the crew were doing what we usually did then, taking off helmets, sorting out the navigation stuff, looking for some transport back to the Flights. As we lit cigarettes, and with his little secret smile, Rabbie said to me, “Enjoy it?”
“Rabbie,” I said to him, “excuse me for asking, but do you always do your cross-countries at nought feet?”
He gave his little sniggering laugh and looked down.
“Well, no,” he said softly, “but you have to let your hair down now and again.”
Some of it must have rubbed off on Sandy, too, except that he gave himself a bad fright. It really could have been quite a shaky do. Several of us were in ‘B’ Flight office one afternoon, doing nothing in particular. We had a couple of kites on, that night,
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but most of us had been stood down too late to go into G.Y. The phone rang and Abey answered it, his face, as usual, giving nothing away. He looked across at the blackboard as he listened and our eyes followed his, wondering.
“That’s right, E-Edward,” he said, and rang off.
The board said, ‘E’ – Sgt. Sanders – Local flying – airborne 1420.’
“We’d better go and see this,” Abey said calmly, straightening a few things on his desk, “Sandy may be in a bit of bother, it appears that he’s hit something south of here. He’s coming in now.”
We piled into the Flight van and hared out to dispersal. Just then, we saw ‘E’ land, quite a reasonable one, too. We breathed again. Then, as we waited, he taxied in and we could see that where the port half of his windscreen had been there was just a jagged hole. The air-intake on his port engine looked peculiar, too, it was half bunged up with something greyish. Sandy stopped in his dispersal and cut the engines. The ladder came down and he climbed down it a bit tentatively, looking decidedly sheepish when he saw the reception committee.
He and Abey talked rather quietly together while the crew climbed down and stood around, fiddling with their ‘chutes and navigation stuff, surreptitiously brushing what looked very like feathers from off themselves and trying to look unconcerned. Someone who had overheard the conversation muttered, “Been low-flying over the Wash and hit a bunch of seagulls.” We grinned at [sic] bit at that, once we knew they were all O.K. Abey’s poker face said nothing as he turned away from Sandy. Then someone nearby said, “Hey, Sandy, what’s wrong with your face?” and when we looked closely we could see a piece of pink seagull flesh sticking to his cheek. Sandy put a hand up to his face, then had a look at what he had collected. Slowly, his eyes rolled up, his knees buckled and he fell at our feet in a dead faint. Abey, good type that he was, hushed it all up.
Not long afterwards, a handful of our kites went as part of a smallish force to attack one of the north German ports. It might have been Emden. Rabbie was on it; I wasn’t. Next morning, after breakfast, Teddy put his head around the door of the ante-room, his eyes starting out of his thin, pale face.
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“Hey!” he exclaimed, “You want to have a look at Rabbie’s kite, he’s had a right shaky do!”
He tore off out, to tell someone else. Quickly, we made our way up to the Flights. ‘E’ was parked right outside ‘B’ Flight hangar, and most of the starboard mainplane out board of the engine just wasn’t there. The wing finished in a ragged, twisted jumble of geodetics. Obviously, they had had a very narrow escape indeed from a burst of flak. I climbed aboard. The wheel was tied over to port with a chunk of rope. I found Rabbie, poking idly about at this and that.
“Dodging the photographic bod,” he said with an apologetic grin. There was one of the photographic section erks outside now, fussing about with a camera, taking pictures of ‘E’. Rabbie looked paler than usual, thoughtful.
“How the hell did you manage to get it back like this?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, with his nervous little snigger, “it wasn’t too b-bad, Sandy and I tied the wheel over a bit,” and nodded towards it.
The photo erk had gone and the sightseers had thinned out to two or three. I climbed out, chatting to Rabbie, but as we talked, I could see something different. There was something in his eyes that I’d never seen there before, a distant, almost other-worldly expression.
When I left the Squadron I lost touch with everyone, including, at times, myself. It was a long time afterwards, and I was talking to Eric on the telephone. We had reached the “Do you remember” and “What happened to” stage.
“By the way,” I asked him, “what ever happened to Rabbie?”
“Rabbie?” Eric replied, “Oh, I’m afraid he was shot down, you know.”
It had happened near the Dutch town of Beverwijk. Rabbie had finished up as a P.o.W with Eric and Abey, then had been repatriated on account of injuries to his hands, Eric said. Some of his crew had been killed.
In June 1989 a Dutch air-war historian took me to a beautifully-kept cemetery in the small town of Bergen, near Alkmaar, to visit the graves of a contemporary crew of ‘B’ Flight whom I had known.
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As I was turning to leave, my eye, quite by chance, noticed another name on a nearby tombstone, one which I immediately recognised, that of our Commanding Officer, who had gone missing while I was with the Squadron. Very near to him and to the others was yet another familiar name, that of Sandy.
Each name of all the aircrew, some 200 of them, who are buried there, is inscribed upon the bells of the local church, just across the way. One of the bells is perpetually silent, representing those who could not be identified. And one bell bears the inscription – “I sound for those who fell for freedom.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Letter home [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LETTER HOME [/underlined]
I wonder how many premonitions the average person has during his or her lifetime. It’s not the sort of topic which crops up very much in normal conversation, so I don’t think it can happen all that often. But when it does, and you believe you are being given a glimpse of the future, it can be quite weird and rather frightening. So far, I can recall three instances personally. One was at a very long interval of time, one was just the opposite, while the third - . That is what the letter home was about.
A week or two ago I was watching a debate from the House of Commons on television. There was a fairly sparse attendance, the subject became rather mundane and my attention, frankly, was beginning to wander. I looked along the green leather seats where the numerous absentees would normally have sat. Surely, I thought, surely seats like those had played some part in my life at some time?
Then I had it – they were the colour of the wooden-framed armchairs in the anteroom of the Mess at Binbrook. And I was immediately reminded of the first, and very strong, premonition I had had there, and was coping with, as I sat in one of those chairs, almost alone in the quiet room on that winter’s night, waiting to take off on a raid over Germany – and not expecting to come back.
Looking into my logbook now, I can narrow it down to one of four dates, but the actual date is of no importance. The premonition I had, though, was important, very important to me, very gradual, but extremely strong.
Abey, our Flight Commander in ‘B’ Flight was, in every sense of the word, a gentleman. He was then in charge of eight or ten crews of six men each which comprised ‘B’ Flight, and he had, among many other things, the responsibility of selecting crews under his command for any operations on any particular night, or day. Fortunately, the latter were scarce enough. Sometimes the choice was simple, if a maximum effort was called for by Command or Group, he simple sent everyone whose aircraft was serviceable. But sometimes
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he had to choose, and no-one envied him that, nor ever queried his choice. Querying things like that is something that happens in films, usually bad ones. If a “fresher” target was specified for the night’s operations then novice crews, who had done up to four of five ops were selected to go. If he had any choice at all, any crew due for leave went on leave, that same morning. He did his job well and fairly; he was a very considerate man.
On the day of which I write, our crew had done three trips, one of which had had an abrupt and near-catastrophic ending. A “fresher” was called for that night, so we were “on”, in S for Sugar. I have been wondering, recounting this, trying to remember what my reactions were during the time of an op, from the first knowledge that I was going, that night, to some unknown target, whose location and identity would not be known until briefing that afternoon, until the moment after one’s return, sitting down thankfully, tired and strained, into a chair, with a mug of coffee and rum in one hand and a cigarette in the other, for interrogation after the trip. When we would look around the room to see who was seated at the other tables with the Intelligence Officers, recounting their stories of the night’s experiences. However, although I readily confess that not a single trip went by when I was not to some extent frightened, quite often very frightened indeed, my first reaction on being told that I was among those who were on that night’s operations was one of intense excitement, of being immediately strung up to a very high pitch, reactions accelerated beyond their normal speed, like those of a sprinter on his starting blocks, alert for the sound of the pistol which will launch him on his rapid way.
We did our night flying test in S for Sugar as soon as we knew we were operating that night. It was winter, but not too bad a winter until then. This particular morning was cold and cloudy with a breeze from the south-west, the odd spot of rain in the wind, a typical winter’s morning in Lincolnshire, in fact. We flew around for a while to test that everything in the aircraft was working properly, except for the bomb-release mechanism and the guns. We weren’t bombed up yet, of course, and we would test the guns over the sea once we were on our way that night. I was still quite strung up with excitement
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and anticipation. None of us thought or said very much about the target, it was bound to be one of the French Channel ports, the docks, or course, and they were reckoned to be a piece of cake – straight in from the sea, open the bomb doors, press the tit and then home, James.
Briefing was at 1430 hours. By that time the weather wasn’t so good. The cloudbase was down, the wind was getting up and it was colder. At briefing there was ourselves and a handful of others. The target wasn’t one of the Channel ports, it was Wilhelmshaven, on the north German coast, not what we had expected, and quite a tough target. Weather prospects were moderate to fairly poor, with a front coming across which we would have to contend with, a risk of icing. It didn’t sound all that funny. But there it was.
The excitement of the morning had worn off and I was beginning to feel a bit deflated when I went back to the Mess after briefing. There was nothing to be done until teatime, and takeoff was fairly late, to catch the late moon. About five hours to kill. As I thought about it like that I realised that the expression could be taken more than one way, and I didn’t like one way very much. I went back to my room with the sense of deflation sliding quickly downwards towards a feeling of depressive foreboding. It was not as though the target was the toughest one in the book, tough enough by any standards, but no long stretch of enemy territory to be crossed there and back. Not exactly, as we had thought, the reasonably easy one we had expected, but not as bad as it might have been. Or so I tried to tell myself.
The foreboding grew inside me the longer I sat in my room. I was alone; Frank Coles, my room-mate, was Squadron Signals Leader and usually had things to do even when the rest of us were free. Out of the window I could see that the weather was steadily worsening, which added to my unease. I sat there, smoking, and trying to read. It was useless. I became more and more certain that this trip was the one I wasn’t coming back from, that we were going to be shot down. Once I had arrived at that realisation I found I was almost able to visualise it happening; I had already seen it happen to others nearby. But tonight it was going to happen to us, and that would be the end of me.
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There was nothing I could do about it; I had to go through with it, it had to be faced. The only practical thing I should now see to was to write a letter home, to my parents. The trouble was that I had very little idea what I wanted to say to them. For several reasons, I felt they hadn’t had the time to get to know very much about me, as an individual. But still, I felt I owed them this letter.
So I wrote to them. It was a very short letter, I remember, but its exact contents I cannot recall. I know I started in the conventional way – “by the time you read this you will know I have been reported missing,” and so on, and I know that after I had addressed the envelope I added, “To be forwarded only in the event of my failing to return from an operation.”
By the time I had stewed over this wretched little piece of writing it was teatime. There was still no sign of Frank. I was glad of some company in the Mess, although there weren’t all that many in, with only the freshers operating. So I had tea. It was usually a high tea if there were ops on. On this evening, as on many others, there were kippers, toast and tea. Surprisingly, I found I was very hungry. I think I was determined to enjoy what was going to be my last meal. So I savoured every morsel. As dusk fell I stretched myself out in front of the roaring fire in an armchair in the anteroom to await the time to go up to the Flights to get dressed for the trip. The armchair had wooden arms and sides with a green leather padded seat and back.
Every time the tannoy went with some commonplace announcement that someone was wanted at his Flight or Section I would jump a little and stiffen when the W.A.A.F. said, “Attention, please, attention, please,” and then slump down again when I heard that it wasn’t ops being scrubbed. There weren’t many people in the anteroom, and as the fireplace was at one end and I was very close to it, I couldn’t really see who was in the room with me. I was concentrating on absorbing, I think, every scrap of physical comfort I could from the heat of the fire, in what I now firmly believed to be the last few dwindling hours of my life. I could hear sleet or snow spitting as it dropped down the chimney on to the fire.
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I was seeing all sorts of strange pictures in the glowing coals. What they were I didn’t know, faces mostly, it seemed, but whose, I couldn’t distinguish. I started as one of the Mess waiters drew the big curtains across the blacked-out windows. Seeing me in battledress and roll-necked sweater and knowing that I was “on”, he gave me a half-smile as he piled some more coal on to the fire. The heat on my legs died as he did so.
“Is it still sleeting?” I asked him.
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, “still sleeting.”
Tactfully, he didn’t add “It’s a rotten night to be on ops,” or anything like that, but I knew that was what he was thinking. I nodded. He walked quietly away about his business and we left it at that. The wind was starting to get up quite a lot now. I could hear the slap of the sleet hitting the window like a wet cloth in the gusts. Surely they would scrub it? In an hour or so we were due to take off for Wilhelmshaven. I wondered what the weather was like over there, whether they were thinking that it was such a bad night that they were safe from R.A.F. raids. Then I thought about the letter. Was I being stupid? Was this all a lot of childish, hysterical nonsense, over-dramatising oneself? I still thought not; I was still convinced in my own mind.
Why did one write such things? I mused. It made no difference, really, to the outcome, someone would die, someone would be bereaved, that was all there was to it. I wondered how many people I knew actually wrote them, too. I suppose one reason for writing a last letter was to say a final goodbye to someone who was dear to one, but I think also it was to prove to oneself that one was ready and spiritually prepared to leave this life, to give up all those things regarded hitherto as important and to enter a new existence, to meet again one’s friends who were already there, like going from one room of a house to another via the dark passage which we call death. There was a Sergeant pilot in ‘B’ Flight, whom I knew quite well, Norman Spray. He left a letter for his mother. He went missing on a raid the following spring and his words of parting from his mother were so memorable that they found their way on to the page of a national newspaper which I happened to read. I am sure he was an exceptional person to have written in the way he did.
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The minutes ticked slowly by. Hypnotised by the heat from the fire and, I suppose, subconsciously withdrawing from what I believed were my final hours, I think I must have dozed for a few minutes. The tannoy announcement jerked me back to complete wakefulness. The W.A.A.F. said, “All night flying is cancelled, repeat, all night flying is cancelled.”
I immediately started to shiver uncontrollably, despite the fire’s heat. I moved my body around in the chair to try to stop the shakes, to try to hide them in case someone should see. I fidgeted around, stretched, blew my nose, then looked around the ante-room to see whether anyone was watching me. There were one or two ground staff Officers, and Teddy, Eric and Doug, the first two talking quietly over their beer, Doug reading a book, absently stroking his luxuriant ginger moustache with the back of his hand, an unconscious gesture which we all knew well. Outside, the wind moaned, the sleet was still tapping on the window, as though someone were asking quietly to be let in, perhaps like the messenger of Death itself. For not long afterwards, He would claim two of those three.
I took something of a grip on myself and pressed the bell at the side of the fireplace. When the steward came I ordered a beer. I could hardly believe this was happening. He was the man who had drawn the curtains earlier. He took my order, then hesitated and said, not looking directly at me, “You’ll not be sorry, sir, about the scrub, not on a night like this?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, “not on a night like this.”
The shakes had just about stopped by then. I went across to Eric and had a chat and another beer. Neither of us said much about the scrub, he hadn’t been on, anyhow, being in Abey’s crew. I certainly didn’t complain about it. Eventually I went up to my room and furtively tore up the letter into small pieces. I don’t think Frank noticed anything, if he guessed what I was doing he was too tactful to mention it. Then I undressed and got into bed. I was probably going to live for another twenty-four hours.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Low-level [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LOW-LEVEL [/underlined]
By the third day, those of us who were in the know were getting a little twitchy.
When you are briefed no less than three days in a row for the same target, when you are told it is to be a low-level night attack, when you learn that the whole thing is so hush-hush that only pilots and Observers are to know what the target is until after you are airborne, you only need one scrub to make you jump a bit at loud noises.
After the second briefing, when there was another scrub, and the following day, when there was a third identical briefing, you could have almost cut slices of the tension out of the air with a knife. To begin with, nothing in that city had ever been bombed before. When we knew where it was to be, we looked at each other with eyebrows raised. For very good reasons, we had to go in low and make one hundred per cent certain that we were going to hit the target when the Observer pressed the bomb-release. If we were not certain, then, ‘dummy run’ and round again. No trouble in that, we were told, there were no defences worth speaking of, only a couple of light flak guns at the airport some distance away. Just avoid that, and we shouldn’t have any bother.
So we were told at the briefings, all three of them. Did we believe it could possibly be true? We made ourselves believe it, I think, but it took some doing. Weren’t we used to the Channel Ports, to Kiel, to Essen and the Ruhr, where, in all conscience it was deadly enough at twenty thousand feet at night, let alone at – what was to be our bombing height? – two thousand five hundred feet, straight and level down a corridor of flares?
We would have liked to believe it, certainly. It sounded so – different, so well organised. 235 aircraft, which to us was one hell of a lot, including some Manchesters and four-engined Stirlings and Halifaxes. The first wave was going to drop flares, and keep dropping them so that the whole place would be well lit up, and once
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they'd done that and let go some incendiaries and cookies to start the ball rolling, then the second wave, which was us, would come in and stoke the place up with high explosive, as low as the safety height, 1,000 feet per 1,000 pounds of the heaviest bomb, permitted. If there hadn’t been some Manchesters carrying 2,000 pounders, in our wave, we would have been down around 1,000 feet, I suppose.
What was going through the minds of Mick, our wireless op. in S-Sugar, and Johnnie and Bill, the gunners, being completely in the dark as to what it was all about, I could only guess. But they accepted the situation stoically, and never asked one question. Except when we were clambering out of the transport at dispersal, really on our way, on the third evening, then Mick, who was a married man, said quietly to Cookie, “Is this a suicide effort, skip?” I believe he was recalling those two posthumous V.C.s our Squadron had won less then [sic] two years before, when we had lost five out of five Fairey Battles trying to stop the German advance through the Low Countries. Anyhow, Cookie shook his head.
“No, Mick, it’s not a suicide effort, at least not if I can help it!”
I’m afraid I couldn’t resist mischievously chipping in then, just as we were sorting ourselves out in the dusk of that early March evening under the shadow of S-Sugar’s nose in the quietness of our dispersal.
“You won’t be needing your oxygen mask, though,” I said.
Mick’s eyes widened. It was a bit cruel of me.
“You’re kidding, Harry, aren’t you?”
“No, pukka gen,” I laughed.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Mick said, his Brummy accent very pronounced.
Col, our Aussie Observer, came to the rescue.
“Don’t let it worry yer, Mick,” he said, “it’s going to be a piece of cake. Or so they say, anyhow.”
I was hoping this didn’t fall into the category of famous last words, as we climbed aboard. I found I was yawning quite a lot, while a muscle in my back was trying to do something all on its own.
We took up our positions in the kite. As co-pilot, mine was in the Wimpy’s astrodome until Cookie wanted me to fly it, or needed
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a hand with something up front. I checked the intercom point, saw we had a flare handy in case we had to do a bit of target-finding ourselves, and I groaned inwardly when I saw the stack of nickels, as our propaganda leaflets were known, which I was going to have to shove out over northern France. I took one out of the nearest bundle and saw a cartoon of a depraved and vicious-looking S.S. man, headed, ‘Personalité de l’ordre nouveau.’ I hoped I didn’t meet him later that night in some French gaol.
Faintly through my helmet I heard someone shout “Contact port!” and the engine shuddered into life with a roar, bluish flames spitting out of the exhausts. Then that tune, which remained obsessively with me throughout that night, and which, ever since, has evoked such vivid memories of it, started going through my head – ‘The last time I saw Paris’. Now we were rumbling around the perimeter track. The black shapes of the hangars, topped by their red obstruction lights, came and went. A little group of four or five W.A.A.F.s near the end of the runway waved to us as we passed them. A dazzling green light flashed three dots, our aircraft letter, at us, Cookie opened the throttles and the tail lifted. Then we were charging down the runway, the Drem lighting whipping past the wingtips as the Merlins’ roar rose to a howl at full throttle.
When we had turned on to the course for Reading, our first pinpoint, Cookie checked that everyone was O.K. Then he said, calmly over the intercom, “Now I can tell you where we’re going. It’s the Renault factory in Paris and it’s a low-level do, two to three thousand feet, and there’ll be bags of flares so we can bomb spot on.” There was stunned silence, then Johnnie said coolly, “Paris? That sounds like fun.”
The tension was released and we all laughed immoderately. Cookie told them about the lack of defences, how the crossing-in point had been carefully chosen at the mouth of the Somme, near Abbeville, and how we had to be very sure not to drop anything outside the target area, in case of casualties to the French population.
“I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower,” Mick said.
From the rear turret Bill, our Canadian gunner, drawled, “Don’t worry, at our height you’ll be able to count the bloody rivets!”
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The evening was clear as our home beacon slowly fell away behind us. It seemed strange to be cruising easily along at about five thousand feet; usually we climbed steadily all the way to whichever target we were bound for. There wasn’t much talk over the intercom, I think the boys were busy digesting the news about the target – and the bombing height. Then the moon came up, huge, brilliant and impersonal, a beautiful sight, away to port. Reading was, as always, easy to find, the railway station was like a dimly-lit flarepath, but it gave us a good pinpoint, however much it might have helped the Luftwaffe. We crossed the south coast dead on track and E.T.A. and headed out over the Channel. Cookie switched off the navigation lights. Shortly afterwards, Mick reported that he had switched off the I.F.F. We were on our own now.
In only a few minutes it seemed, Johnnie said, “Enemy coast ahead, skipper.” I peered forward from the astrodome. The pewter colour of the Channel showed a faint line of dirty white a few miles ahead of us. A few degrees to starboard some light flak was going up, and I reported it for Col to log.
“Probably Le Tréport”, I said, “they always put on a firework display for us.”
Johnnie said, “I can see a big estuary dead ahead.”
“O.K., Johnnie,” Col replied, “let’s know when we cross the coast. Next course one seven two magnetic, skip.”
Then Johnnie said calmly, “Anyone see an exhaust almost dead ahead, same height?”
I hurried forward to stand beside Cookie, and we both saw it at once, a point of orange light, straight ahead of us, and nastily at our own height.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Cookie said, “I don’t want to be formating [sic] on a goddam 109.”
“Nickels due out in five minutes, Harry,” Col told me.
“O.K., Col, thanks,”
I went aft again, to the flare chute. I heard Cookie say, “That fighter’s still going our way, we must be bloody close to him. I’m going to alter course a bit to try to lose him, then fly parallel to our proper track. Turning ten degrees starboard now, Col.”
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In the darkness of the fuselage I unlocked and extended the flare chute and started pushing the bundles of leaflets out. Once free of the aircraft the slipstream would release each bundle from its elastic band and spread them all over the countryside below. In a little while I heard Cookie say, “That bloody fighter’s still there, damn him to hell.”
Johnnie said, “We’re catching him up a bit, too, skipper.”
“That’s bloody impossible,” Cookie exclaimed angrily. He sounded rather exasperated.
I finished the nickelling, stuffed a couple into my pockets for souvenirs, brought the flare chute in and went forward again, past Mick, who gave me a thumbs-up, and Col. Johnnie had been quite right, that glowing point of red light was definitely larger now. The countryside under the rising moon was a leaden blur, now and again shot with a vein of silver as the moonlight reflected off a river.
“How long to the target, Col?” Cookie asked.
“E.T.A. eighteen minutes.”
The light was really getting quite a bit bigger now and we were still heading straight towards it. Suddenly, it all became clear to me.
“Hey, Cookie!” I exclaimed, “that’s no fighter exhaust, it’s the bloody target!”
There was a moment’s silence, then, “Jesus!” Cookie said in awe, “You could be right, Harry, you could just be right, at that. Check our course, Col, one seven two magnetic, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s it skip, one seven two.”
Now we could see it. It was a fire on the ground, like a huge, glowing ember alone in the darkness. I went back to the astrodome. A pinpoint of white light hung above the glow, like a star, then a second, a third, a fourth. The flares were going down, dropped by the markers, for us. Cookie called out, “O.K., fellers, this looks like it, but we want to be good and sure where we bomb.” As we flew towards the blaze Johnnie said, “I can see the Seine, the fire’s right on it.”
Col said, “Part of the works is on a sort of banana-shaped island
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in the river, we’ve got to fly slap over it.”
We could see almost a dozen flares now, brilliant, whitish-yellow, and trailing rope-like white smoke as they slowly sank towards the ground, suspended from their parachutes. I could dimly see buildings below us. Cookie was turning S-Sugar gently to come in from the south-west; all the action was now on our port beam, then on our port bow.
Suddenly, away to starboard, two light flak guns pumped a few rounds of coloured tracer upwards, but there could have been no aircraft anywhere near them.
“Light flak away to starboard, skip,” I said, “only a few rounds, I think they’ve gone down to the stores to get some more ammo.”
“Just keep an eye on it, Harry.”
I was humming the words of that song to myself,
“The last time I saw Paris,
I saw her in the Spring….”
We were heading straight in now, flares on either side of our nose. The ground was almost invisible against the glare ahead from the fire and the lines of flares hanging in the sky. Col said, “Coming forward, skip.”
A few more rounds of tracer hosed up, away to starboard, but I didn’t even bother to report it. The lack of opposition near at hand was quite uncanny; we certainly weren’t used to this sort of thing. I was searching the sky for fighters, tracer, heavy flak-bursts, but there was nothing. Just the flares, dozens of them now. We were right among them, flying straight and level down a well-lit avenue.
I saw a dim shape loom up, dead ahead, growing rapidly and menacingly larger every second.
“Turn port, skip, quick!” I shouted.
Cookie yanked her nose round. A Hampden, bomb-doors open, hurtled past us on a reciprocal course, obviously completely disobeying briefing instructions as to the direction of the bombing run. He was almost close enough to read his identification letters.
“The stupid bastard,” said Cookie, “what the hell’s he doing?”
“Bomb doors open, skip,” Col said tightly.
“Bomb doors open, Col!”
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The inferno had vanished under our nose. There was a long silence while Col directed our track up to the target. I peered down, but I could only see a jumble of city buildings; I was trying to find the Arc de Triomphe.
“I’ve got that island coming up,” Col said, his excitement showing in his voice, “left, left, steady, right a bit, steady, steady – bombs gone!”
I felt the rumbling jolt as we dropped our load on the Renault factory.
“Bomb doors closed,” Cookie called.
“Oh, bloody marvellous!” Bill almost shouted from the rear turret, “spot on, Col, you got the first one bang on the island and the rest of the stick went right across the factory, I saw them bursting!”
Some distance ahead there was a sudden flash from the ground, a yellowish fire which turned redder and spread out, in a bend of the Seine.
“Some poor sod’s bought it, about one o’clock, five miles,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Cookie, I can see it. Don’t know what the hell he was doing up there.”
I looked back at the target, now a sea of flame beneath the brilliance of the unearthly light of the flares and the moon. A sudden eruption of flame shot up from the factory as I watched.
“Christ! Did you see that?” Bill called, “someone’s hit a goddam petrol tank or something.” We learned later that one of our Flight Commanders, Squadron Leader Jackson, had scored a direct hit on a large gas holder; it was that we had seen.
But the other fire, the burning kite on the ground in the bend of the river, drew our eyes to it as I took over the controls from Cookie.
“Poor sods,” Johnnie said quietly, “I hope they got out of it.”
We droned on over northern France, heading for Abbeville and home. But the excitements of the evening were not over yet. Half way to the French coast Johnnie reported a light flashing from the ground, to starboard of our track. I looked across between the nose and the mainplane and saw it, a square of yellow light, bravely flashing
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di-di-di-dah, “V for Victory”. Col came up to look.
“Good on yer, mate,” he said laconically. Those people down there in Beauvais were risking their lives by signalling to us their appreciation and encouragement, and I felt a strong bond had been forged between them, whoever they were, and us, in S-Sugar.
We flew on towards the mouth of the Somme. Bill said he could still see the target burning, many miles behind us now, and we were riding on the crest of a wave at the obvious success of the attack. We’d never known anything like it before and we hoped we would know many like it again. And as the Renault factory burned in Paris and the V’s flashed out from Beauvais I became aware that perhaps, after many disappointments, we were now beginning to win.
There was much elation as we flew homewards in “S”. We were a cheerful and buoyant crew, that night of all nights. I never dreamed that five short weeks hence I alone, of the six of us in the crew, would be the only one left alive.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] A boxful of broken china [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] A BOXFUL OF BROKEN CHINA [/underlined]
It had happened to Abey’s crew already (although I was not to know this until some years later), and no doubt it had happened to others whom I had known.
It was a common enough occurrence in those days, when we had simply to rely upon dead reckoning navigation with a bit of astro thrown in – there was nothing else to rely on, then – that at one time or another you would stray off track, fly unwittingly over a defended area, and get thoroughly well shot at. I use the words ‘thoroughly well’ advisedly, in the full knowledge that I shall be treading on many corns when I say that the German flak and searchlights left our own standing at the post when it came to accuracy and effectiveness. On several nights while at Binbrook, after our own air-raid sirens had sounded, we would troop out of the Mess to watch the progress of a raid on Hull and, so to speak, compare notes on the Luftwaffe’s reception with what we received, over Germany. We were all left in no doubt as to which target we would have chosen to be over, and would retire to the anteroom when the all-clear sounded, shaking our heads sadly and making rueful and derisive comments concerning the lack of effectiveness of our ack-ack gunners and searchlight crews compared to their German counterparts.
There were well-known hot spots over the other side, places whose names sent a slight chill up one’s spine when they were mentioned. Places such as Essen, or anywhere in the Ruhr, if it came to that, Hamburg, Heligoland, Sylt or Kiel. The list was a long one and the toll taken by those guns of unwitting tresspassers [sic] over their territory was heavy.
But no such reputation attached itself to a town called Lübeck, which we, among 2345 aircraft, were to attack one night late in March 1942.
“Lübeck?” we whispered to one another at briefing that day, “Lübeck? Never heard of it.”
We had it pointed out to us by our Intelligence Officer at the briefing, a bit beyond Kiel, a bit beyond Hamburg and between the two, almost on the Baltic coast. The defences, we were told, were
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believed to be negligible. Oh, yes? Well, we’d heard that about the Renault factory in Paris and that turned out to be true, so why shouldn’t this one be the same? Our confidence was very high after that Renault attack and this one was beginning to sound quite good. It was going to be largely a fire-raising raid. There were a lot of wooden buildings in the town, apparently. This really was beginning to sound very interesting, the chance to do to a German city what they had done on fifty-odd nights in succession to London. However, we were to carry an all-high explosive load in S for Sugar. We were warned, of course, of the proximity to our route of the defences, which we all knew about, of Kiel and Hamburg, but no-one really needed telling about those. We had experienced the Kiel defences twice before recently, once when 64 of us Wellingtons of 1 Group had put the battle-cruiser Gneisenau out of action for the rest of the war. I often wonder which of us it was that hit it, for I remember seeing some quite big explosions that night.
So, as far as the trip to Lübeck was concerned our crew, at least, were in a fairly happy mood. Looking back, I am sure that on that night, while not one of the six of us would have admitted it for fear of tempting whatever fates might be looking down upon us, we were each secretly thinking that this trip, this particular, and possibly only trip we would do, was going to go some way towards approaching the proverbial ‘piece of cake’. One could describe a trip in those terms while drinking, in a post-operational flood of euphoria, one’s mug of rum-laced coffee, waiting for interrogation, bacon and egg, and then bed, but no-one ever had the temerity to voice those words about any target before take-off. Not at any price. Fate was not there to be tempted in such a careless and impertinent manner.
The buoyant mood of the crew of S for Sugar was not in any way diminished when we gathered in B Flight hangar, all kitted up and ready – almost eager – to go. Mick, Johnnie and Col were standing near the crewroom door, looking amused about something, and with a fairly large cardboard carton half-hidden by their flying-booted legs. They had obviously said something to Cookie, now commissioned and doing his first op. as a P/O, for he was showing a lot of very white teeth in his amusement.
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“What’s going on?” I asked, puzzled. Such levity was very unusual before an op., we were invariably rather silent and very tense. Mick nodded towards the box.
“Present for the Jerries, from the Sergeants’ Mess,” he said in his Brummy accent, a broad grin splitting his face.
“What the hell have you got there?” I asked.
“Boxful of broken china,” Col said, “we’re going to chuck it out over the target. It’s all got the R.A.F. crest on, too.”
“Christ, you’re a mad lot of so-and-so’s,” I said through my laughter. Had I known it, I wasn’t going to laugh again for some time after that.
Recalling it now, although I cannot obviously tell where or how the navigation went wrong, it must have done so, somewhere along the line. Perhaps the reason was simply plain fatigue which led to our being off track and flying into trouble. Fatigue which, even as young, fit men, was inevitable when one realises that while the Lübeck raid took place on 28th March, this was our third operation in four nights. It almost alarms me now, to think of it as I write. We had taken off late on the evening of the 25th, the target being Essen, never any picnic. We had bombed what we believed to be Essen, but we had seen, remarked upon among ourselves at the time, and reported at our interrogation, that many aircraft seemed to be bombing much too far west, at Duisburg, we believed. But there were those among the Squadron aircrews who laughingly insisted that we had bombed too far east, perhaps Bochum, or even Dortmund. We still didn’t think so; we believed we had been in the right place and that the main force of the attack had hit Duisburg.
Apparently ‘Butch’ Harris thought so too, for after a few hours’ sleep we were awakened, fully awakened, with the news that ops were on again that night, the 26th. At briefing we learned the target. Essen again, time on target before midnight. It was a sticky trip, and we lost two of our crews, making three lost in the two nights. I have often wondered how many ex-aircrew are alive today who can say, “I was twice over Essen within twenty-four hours, and live to tell the tale.”
So, after the double attack on Essen, twenty-four hours’ rest
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and we were off to Lübeck, the piece-of-cake target compared to Essen, the wooden town which would burn like Hell itself. Provided we got there to see it, which, in the event, we didn’t.
It seemed that no sooner had we crossed the enemy coast, somewhere in Schleswig-Holstein, that a huge, bluish searchlight suddenly snapped on, and pinned us as surely as a dart hitting the bullseye. And not only one, but about a dozen followed. Then the flak started. Cookie was flying S for Sugar, I was in the astrodome. What use I was I don’t really know, except to try to see if there were any fighters about to attack us. Which was ridiculous, with all the flak they were throwing up at us. In any case, I couldn’t see a thing for the dazzling and horrifying glare of all those lights.
Cookie threw the Wellington about as though it were a Spitfire. The sensation was like that of being on a high-speed roller-coaster which had gone mad. And all the time, the intense, bluish flood of light which lit up the interior of the fuselage like day and the thumping of the flak-bursts around us. We had the sky all to ourselves, and, it seemed, all the defences of northern Germany were telling us that this time we weren’t going to make it back home. I was hanging on to whatever I could to stay standing upright in the astrodome, striving to see beyond the lights, to see whether there was a gap anywhere which Cookie could aim for. One second I would be pressed down on to the floor as he pulled out of a steep dive, the next, I would be hanging in mid-air, fighting against the negative ‘g’ and clutching wildly at the geodetics as he topped a climbing turn then put S for Sugar into another screaming dive. We carried one flare, heavy and cylindrical, four of five feet long. This suddenly left its stowage with the violent manoeuvres and hit me flush in the chest, almost knocking me to the floor. I managed to grab it before it damaged the aircraft and somehow secured it again.
I was, of course, frightened, but not uncontrollably so. As the shellbursts thudded around us my fear was climbing steadily, like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day. I felt I was useless in the astrodome and longed to be doing something active. Quickly I unplugged my intercom and oxygen and clawed my way forward, to see if I could do anything to help Cookie, perhaps to take over
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if he was hit. Col was sitting with both hands clutching at the navigation table, looking rather sick and staring straight ahead of him, while Mick was fiddling with his radio, doing goodness knows what, I thought. I reached the cockpit, where Cookie was wrestling with the controls, his face shiny with sweat, his jaw tightly clamped. He glanced down at me as I plugged in my intercom. Dive, turn, climb, turn, dive – we were corkscrewing all over the sky, losing height all the time. Then Cookie snapped on his intercom switch.
“Col, get rid of the bloody bombs.”
Col came forward, his face looking ashen in the awesome light. A few seconds later I felt the bombs go with a thud. I thought, “I hope they kill somebody, destroy something down there, after what they’re doing to us.”
My fear had now risen to such a pitch it amounted almost to ecstasy.
“Get your chutes on everybody,” Cookie half-shouted over the intercom, “stand by to bale out.”
I obeyed, gladly, and wrenched open the escape hatch near to where I was standing. As I did so, a hole appeared in the aircraft’s fabric skin at my side and I wondered how much damage we had taken. It seemed it was merely a question of a second or two before we were hit and blown to pieces or set on fire, before I and the rest of the lads were torn apart by an exploding shell. They could not go on missing us for ever. I was impatient for the order to bale out; I felt I had had enough of this experience. At the same time I felt a deep sadness that I might be going to die without having led a complete life, a life in which I had not experienced many things. I had never known the love of a woman; I had never even had a steady girl friend.
Through the open escape hatch I could see the earth, a huge forest, stretching away under the moonlight. Still the lights and the flakbursts hammering at us, the smell of cordite. At that moment I came to accept that I was going to die, and at the same time, I now realise that I lost altogether, and for ever, the fear of death. Not the fear of pain, of great pain, which I still possess, but the fear of dying, of the flight into the unknown world of
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the hereafter. I am convinced that in those seconds, a corner of the veil was lifted and I was granted a glimpse of the boundless quietude of eternity. A great and mysterious calm flooded over me, enfolded me in a sensation of complete and deep peace. I now understand what the prayer means when it speaks of ‘the peace which passeth all understanding’. I could not then and cannot now understand it, but I am certain that at that moment, when I felt I was standing poised on the brink of death, the Almighty reached out His hand to me and I responded and touched it with mine. The memory of the incredible sensation of smoothly passing, as it were, through the fear barrier to another dimension, one of all-embracing calm, is one which has remained with me all my life.
Then suddenly it was quiet. Utter quiet – and darkness. We were through it, we had got away. There was the forest below us, and a stretch of water. The Baltic? It could only be. Cookie was almost drooping over the controls now, physically spent, nearly, I knew, at the point of exhaustion. He had saved all our lives.
“Take over, Harry, for Christ’s sake,” he said, and almost dropped out of the left-hand seat. I climbed quickly up into it and took the controls. Someone slammed shut the escape hatch and I inhaled deeply, very, very deeply, hardly able to believe we were still alive, still flying.
We were at a mere 2,0000 feet. Cautiously but quickly I tested the controls for movement and response. Satisfactory. Almost incredible, I thought.
“Col, where d’you reckon we are?” I asked.
“I know where we’ve been, right enough, Harry,” he said, “slap over Kiel.”
“Look, then, I think we’re a bit east or south-east of it now,” I told him, “I’ll steer three-one-five for the time being if you’ll give me a course to take us to that big point of land on the Danish North Sea Coast – you know the one I mean? Near Esbjerg?”
He knew it. He gave me the course and I started to climb; the more height we had, the better for us, in case of further trouble. We had lost thirteen thousand feet in all that evasive action but we needed to get at least some of it back. I had everyone make a check around the aircraft, but apart from a few minor holes we were intact, and there were no injuries of any sort. It seemed
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unbelievable that we could have survived the pounding we had taken with such negligible damage.
In the brilliant moonlight I saw the Danish coast creeping towards us, with the glint of the welcoming North Sea beyond. Esbjerg harbour was sliding beneath our nose; about eight ships were anchored there – and we hadn’t one single bomb left for them. I cursed aloud; they would have been sitting ducks for us. Not a shot was fired at us as I dived S for Sugar gently out to sea.
On the way back I discussed with Col where he thought we had been caught at first; he reckoned we had been trapped over Flensburg and then handed on, from cone to cone of searchlights until we were firmly into the Kiel defences, like a fly in a spider’s web. I was sure his assessment was correct as we had arrived over Esbjerg exactly as we had planned. I settled down to the long, thoughtful flight home. As usual, there was almost complete silence all the way. I am certain that there was not one among us who was not offering up a silent prayer of thanks.
After we had landed, switched off the engines and climbed stiffly down the ladder, we gathered in a group to congratulate Cookie. He was quite matter-of-fact about his marvellous effort. Then Mick said, in that edgy voice of his, “But listen here, Cookie, we used to have decent trips when you were a Sergeant, I hope all your trips as a P/O aren’t going to be like this one.”
He little knew that two short weeks and three trips later, he, Cookie and the rest of them, apart from me, would be dead, in unknown graves.
Then, inconsequentially, I remembered something.
“Hey! What happened to that boxful of china?” I asked.
The tension was easing.
“Oh, that?” Col said, “don’t worry, Harry, we’ll drop it on the blighters on our next trip, get our own back for tonight. Anyhow,” he added, “I’ll bet it’s the first time Kiel’s been dive-bombed by a single kite!”
I recall, with crystal clarity, waling down to interrogation. Col and I were together, he on my right, the others a few paces behind
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us. The moonlight was intensely bright and the hangars and the buildings of the Station stood out sharp and grey under its flood of cold light. There was not another soul to be seen and there was only the sound of our footsteps on the roads which led down from the hangars to the Headquarters buildings. I felt that I did not want to speak now, I did not want to break the spell of the feeling of that great “peace, from the wild heart of clamour” which was pervading my whole being, enfolding me in the purity of its white light, like that of the moon, shining down from God’s heaven on those whom he had spared that night, the night of the Lübeck raid.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] The end of Harry [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] THE END OF HARRY [/underlined]
“And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!”
II Samuel 18, v.33.
“Crews were given a forecast of clear weather over Essen but cloud was met instead. The bombing force became scattered and suffered heavily from the Ruhr Flak defences….. 7 Wellingtons, 5 Hampdens, 1 Halifax, 1 Manchester lost ….”
Martin Middlebrook and Chris Everitt,
The Bomber Command War Diaries.
I open my log-book to refresh my memory of that trip. The entry lies there in red ink, under my fingers, as clear as the day on which it was written, as is now my recollection of the night, which comes flooding back to me.
The date. We were in M for Mother. “Operations, Cologne. Diesel engine factory attacked with 4000 lb. bomb. Moderate heavy flak and searchlights in area, mostly on west side of town. Good weather.” A pencilled note, “263 aircraft in attack; 179 Wellingtons, 44 Hampdens, 11 Manchesters, 29 Stirlings. A new record for a force to a single target. 4 Wellingtons and 1 Hampden lost.” We got off lightly that night. Sometimes, like one we did to Essen, it was ten per cent. It was the last night I ever flew as one of Cookie’s crew.
We approached Bonn from the north-west at about twenty thousand feet, into the brilliant light of the moon, dead ahead. The sight was fantastic, beyond all imagining. We were just off the edge of a solid sheet of strato-cumulus at about ten thousand feet, stretching as far south and east as the eye could see, lit brilliantly white by the moon, and with its north edge, nearest us, as well-defined as the edge of an immense shelf. Out of this layer there towered
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a huge cumulo-nimbus, rearing up, its north side jet black, like a gigantic tombstone, to about 15 or 16 thousand feet and casting a tremendous shadow over the Rhineland. To the north of this cloud-shelf it was crystal-clear, hundreds of stars shone brightly and the Rhine writhed and gleamed like a thread of silver below us. We turned north, to track along it, the fifteen or so miles to Cologne.
We could see it ahead. There were six or eight searchlight cones, with a dozen to twenty lights in each, probing, leaning, searching the sky for a victim to pin like a sliver moth in the beams. Every now and again the cones would re-form to close the inviting gaps between them. Each cone would split in half, the lights from one half leaning one way, and the other half the other way, to join the neighbouring cones, which performed the same manoeuvre, to form new cones. It was hideously fascinating, almost hypnotic, to watch. There would seem to be no way through. The dozens of red flashes of the flakbursts, seen distantly, grew larger and more menacing as we approached. Light flak was hosing up, strings of red, green, orange and white, and below everything, the fires, three or four smallish ones, growing larger all the time. Big, bright, slow flashes as cookies exploded among the flames. We were tensed up as we carried ours in. M-Mother had been specially modified to carry the two-ton bomb which protruded some way below the belly of the kite, the bomb-doors of which had been removed. A single hit from a piece of shrapnel on the cookie’s thin, exposed casing and – the mind shied away from it.
So we felt naked with this inches beneath us as we edged through the searchlights, to the right of the Rhine, weaving constantly through the flak, which we could hear, thumping around us over the roar of the engines. We could see it flashing close to us on all sides. In our imaginations the cookie was growing in size; they could hardly miss it, I thought. More fires started below, a stick of bombs rippled redly across the darkened city, then another. Some incendiaries went down in a yellow splash. Or was it an aircraft going in? Still, the slow, bright flashes of the cookies going down on to Cologne. Col went forward. We could hear his harsh breathing over the intercom as he directed us into the bombing run, guiding M-Mother so that the target slid down between the wires of the bomb-sight.
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“Bomb gone!”
The kite thumped upwards as the cookie left us on its journey of destruction. A tight turn to starboard and we were heading back the way we had come, towards the surrealist cloudscape, the enormous, abrupt shelf with the grotesque tower looming up out of it.
On the way back Cookie called me up on the intercom.
“Will you take over, Harry?”
Someone else said, “come on, Harry, get us home.”
It sounded like Mick, the wireless op. Up to now I had always got them home. I had never in my life been called “Harry” by anyone until we were crewed up at O.T.U. But from them I would have happily accepted any nickname they cared to bestow on me. So we flew on through the night, and I got them home.
When we landed I found the M.O. waiting. He was usually to be seen somewhere in the background. This time, he singled me out and detached me from the weary crews who were standing around, clutching their helmets, drinking their rum-laced coffee, rubbing their faces and eyes to clear their fatigue before they were interrogated.
“How did it go?”
“O.K., Doc.”
“Any trouble?”
“The trip, or me?”
“You.”
“No more than usual.”
“Take your pill?”
“Yes.”
“No effect?”
“No.”
“Take this one, now. Get some sleep and see me in the morning after breakfast.”
“O.K., Doc.”
He slapped my shoulder and trudged off. I went into interrogation with the crew, lighting another cigarette as I did so. Ewart Davies was the Int. Officer at our table. We liked him. He didn’t push us too hard for answers, he was quick, quiet, and had some idea what it was like. He knew we wanted our egg and bacon – and bed. As we walked towards the table, Johnnie, our front gunner, gave me a
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quizzical look. Mac, now our rear gunner since Tommy had gone into hospital, was telling him how he’d chucked some empty bottles out over the target to fox the searchlights; it had worked, too. Gunners were a special breed, and had a special bond.
Next morning, I saw the Doc. He made no bones about it and came straight to the point.
“Come in, sit down. Now then, your grounded until you can have a Medical Board, and as soon as you can pack you’re going on six days’ sick leave.”
I felt as though someone had slammed a brick on to the back of my head. I had flown and lived with my crew for eight months. We had shared much together; more than that perhaps. We had shared everything from hilarious evenings in the “Market” to staring into the face of imminent death, where our expectation of life seemed to be measured in seconds. They had become indispensable to me, we were part of one another, our relationship uniquely deep. We knew one another’s strengths, and weaknesses. Where there was a weakness, and there were few, strength was drawn from the others. Where there was strength, we each drew from it fortitude and endurance. We were closer to each other than brothers and there was an unspoken-of bond of the deepest affection between us all which was greater in its way than anything else in the world of human experience. I was stunned to think I was being parted from them; it was something I had never imagined could possibly happen. Our lives were so much intermingled and we were so completely unified and interdependent that I couldn’t imagine life without Cookie, Col, Mick, Johnnie and Mac.
In a daze, I collected some kit together, saw the Adj. about my travel warrant and found Johnnie. He, of all the crew, was closest to me. We would always sit next to one another on our sessions in the “Market”; he was very quiet, absolutely imperturbable, the personification of steadfastness and quiet courage. Somehow I got to Grimsby, then to Doncaster. On Doncaster station I was surprised to meet Ewart, who had so many times gently interrogated us. Normally so ebullient, he too was now subdued.
“Posted to Northern Ireland,” he said ruefully, in his harsh Welsh
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voice, “Hell’s bells, I never wanted to leave 1 Group, but you’ll be back, don’t you worry.”
Nearly three years later I was to meet him in Malaya. We had much to tell each other then. But now, we were both thoroughly depressed. He saw me on to my train, we shook hands, wished each other “Happy landings” and I looked back at him as the train pulled out, a slight figure, smoking the inevitable cigarette in its long holder, hunched miserably on the end of the platform.
The sick leave was anything but cheerful. I was tired, moody and tense. I developed some new and unpleasant symptoms which I kept to myself. I slept fitfully, ate little, snapped at my parents and listened avidly to every news bulleting on the radio for word of bomber operations. There was a raid on Hamburg, five missing. I drank in the local pub, alone, more than I was accustomed to, lay in bed late, walked alone on the cliffs where I used to go with Ivor on his leaves from the R.A.F. Three of my friends were on the verge of call-up for aircrew and Ivor and another school friend, Connie, had already gone to Stirling squadrons which were being formed and expanded. Of these five, four were soon to die, but there was no knowing that at the time. I looked out the first three and let them eagerly pick my brains, it gave me some relief to be able to talk flying and it filled some of the dreadful blanks in the leave.
I was working it all out. I would apply to go on to night fighters, to get some of my own back, or on to Coastal Command Whitleys. The morning before I was due back off leave I heard the B.B.C. news bulletin.
“Last night, strong forces of Bomber Command attacked the Krupp’s works in Essen and other targets in Western Germany and Occupied France. Much damage was done and large fires were caused. From all these operations sixteen of our aircraft failed to return.”
I found my hands were clenched tightly. Essen. That was an old enemy; we had been twice in and out of its massive and savage defences inside twenty-four hours not so long ago, and it had cost us three of our crews, including our Commanding Officer, in the process. To this day I cannot say or hear that evil name, Essen, without a shiver going down my spine.
My parents saw me off at the station. I was glad to go back;
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I felt like a fish out of water away from a bomber station, it was my life. I was anxious to hear the latest gen., and to get my medical board over and done with, to know what was to become of me. The local train crawled from Doncaster to Grimsby; I found transport there to take me to Binbrook.
My room-mate Johnny Stickings had crashed in January when one engine had failed on the way back from Wilhelmshaven, and he and the only other survivor had been taken to hospital. A little later, another Observer and a good friend, Eric, had gone missing with Abey, our Flight Commander, on Kiel, along with Teddy Bairstow and his crew. I had been moved in with Eric’s room-mate Frank, to keep up our morale, I supposed.
I walked along the empty corridor in the Mess. Someone came out of the ante-room and passed me, a pilot whom I didn’t know. I wondered about him, who he was, who he was replacing. We said “hello”. I went up the stairs and turned left to my room. I opened the door and there was Frank, with his fresh complexion and almost Grecian good looks, putting away his laundry.
“Hiya, Frank,” I said, “what’s the gen?”
“Oh, hello, Harry,” he replied, looking up, “how do you feel? Did you have a good leave?”
“So-so,” I said, “but what’s the gen?”
He cleared his throat.
“Look, Harry,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. Cookie, your crew, they went missing on Essen two nights ago.”
“Oh, Christ, Frank, no,” I said, dropping on to my bed, “Oh, God, they didn’t. Is there any news of them?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No, I’m afraid not. They went to Hamburg the other night and got back O.K. with everybody else, then they were on Essen and they didn’t come back, I’m afraid. They were in H-Harry, there was nothing heard from them after they took off. I’m terribly sorry.”
I put my head down into my hands; I was beyond speech. I heard Frank go out of the room very quietly. I thought, “I’ve let them down. I’ve failed them completely. I wasn’t with them to get them back home this one time when they needed me more than ever. I wish
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to God I had gone with them.”
And I wondered who had taken my place. Whoever you were, I thought, I would have you heavy on my conscience for the rest of my life, I would forever walk with your ghost at my side. I knew it was the end of something unique and very wonderful in my life, as though a great light had suddenly failed. It was the end of being called “Harry”. To this day I have never permitted anyone else to call me by that name, their name for me. H-Harry was gone for ever, taking them all with it to their eternity, and their own Harry had died with it, and with them.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Silver spoon boy [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] SILVER SPOON BOY [/underlined]
It’s not a part of the city I’m in very often, but a short while ago, after a lunch engagement, I found myself passing the narrow-fronted shop in the busy street which once was the cafe where I had met him for the last time.
I stopped for a minute or so, oblivious to the intense, grim-faced pedestrians brushing past me, and to the traffic as it roared by. And I remembered that day more clearly, it seemed to me, for in that area, while the occupants of the shops and offices have obviously changed many times, the upper facades of the Victorian buildings have remained virtually unaltered – as have my recollections of Jack.
So indeed has the mystery surrounding him, how he came to be in the R.A.F., what happened to him then, and why the man who might have answered my questions would not do so.
There seems to have been no actual beginning to our friendship, it was simply one of those things which developed out of nothing. Since we were merely children at the time I suppose we must have seen each other in the road, probably each of us with a parent, perhaps eventually spoken a few casual words, but looking back now I cannot put any sort of a date upon it. I suppose friendships are like that. My memories of the house we lived in then are intermingled, woven like the coloured threads of a tapestry, with the recollections of the lads I knew at that time – of Alan, of Norman and Peter, and of Jack himself, who lived nearest to me of them all.
He was an only child of quite well-to-do parents. His father was a tall, big-boned, genial man, fond of country pursuits. Jack’s mother was a pleasantly relaxed, comfortably built lady with shrewd eyes, a good amateur pianist who also had rather a fine contralto voice. Jack was very much the son of his parents, cheerful, almost jaunty in manner, generous to a degree and quite undemanding – this last perhaps because he had most things that an only child of fairly well-off parents could wish for. But although he was a boy whom I had heard described, somewhat jealously perhaps, as having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was not by any means a spoiled child.
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Like most other boys of my age I lived an intensely active life, physically in top gear from morning till night. But there appeared to be a shadow across Jack’s life. He was frequently absent from school, and on those occasions when I called at his house I would be told by his mother that he was in bed, unwell. These vague illnesses were, more often than not, described as ‘overgrowing his strength’, but eventually there were hints of a weak heart. He began to be excused games at school and their doctor’s car appeared fairly regularly at their front door. Yet he was never anything else but buoyant and cheerful and I never remember seeing him look or behave very differently from a normal, healthy lad. My own parents, at those times when I told them that Jack was poorly, would give each other meaning looks and would now and again make veiled and half-audible remarks about some doctors who knew when they were on to a good thing. These bouts of malaise never seemed to alter in their frequency, and it became accepted, gradually but inevitably, in the small coterie of friends I had as a young teenager, that Jack was perhaps a little less fit than the rest of us.
Jack’s father, as I have mentioned,. Was interested in country life, and in particular, in shooting; he owned a beautiful and gentle-natured black Labrador, by name Prince. Jack’s uncle was a farmer near to the small country town of B - , some sixty miles away, and close to some good shooting. It was only natural that Jack’s family should spend most of their holidays there. One summer it happened that my parents were going through a period of considerable financial stringency; there had never been any luxuries in my life, but now, even the necessities were scarce.
Then Jack’s father, perhaps being aware of our circumstances, and being the generous man he was, casually asked me if I would like to spend two weeks of the summer holidays with them on the farm. My parents readily and gratefully agreed; I was in the seventh heaven of delight. It was an idyllic fortnight, the car drive there and back were memorable adventures enough, to me, at any rate, without anything further. We had the run of the marginal land on which Jack’s uncle grazed his stock, the scenery was very agreeable, there was impromptu cricket to be played, drives in the country and to
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wonderful, deserted beaches nearby. The discordant note, as far as I was concerned at any rate, was sounded by the early-morning shoot which I attended, crouched unhappily in the butts near the sea’s edge in the half-light of a chilly dawn, while Jack’s father blazed away at the beautiful and harmless ducks and we regaled ourselves with bottles of cold tea, which were regarded by the others, at least, as something of both ritual and delicacy. A little while ago I found, at the bottom of a drawer, a photograph, startlingly clear, of Jack and me standing against a haystack during that holiday, two gawky youths grinning into the camera, with me holding Jack’s cricket bat. I was to visit the farm once again.
When the war came, the little crowd of my friends and I, apart from Jack, went our various ways. It is difficult now to place the events of that time in their correct sequence, the constantly recurring pain of many recollections has tended to blur the outlines, but never to soften the impacts of those tragic times. The two events connected with Jack, I am now astonished to realise, were separated by almost three years of war – in my mind they seemed to be telescoped together, their perspective foreshortened by the passage of time.
Strangely enough, my own family’s ancestors had some connections with B - , and my father, who was always much more interested in the family tree than I ever was, had paid one or two visits to the place over the years to search the parish register for reference to our name and to contemplate the inscriptions on our forebears’ tombstones in the shady churchyard on the side of the hill.
My father was quite obviously under considerable stress during the war; the office where he worked was constantly understaffed as more and more men were called up into the Forces. There were also frequent Air Raid Precautions duties which he could not neglect, nor would ever have dreamed of doing so. In addition, my mother’s health was beginning to fail, and they had two sons in the forces, one of whom was engaged in duties where the chances of eventual survival were rated as about two in five.
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Early in 1942 my own crew, in my absence on sick leave, were reported missing on a raid over the Ruhr. I think my parents must have noticed the effect this had upon me, for they decided that on my next leave we could go to B – for a few days, staying at the hotel in the small market place, if I was agreeable. I thanked them, and thought it might be a good idea. It was late spring when we went, with blue and white quiet skies and sunlight pleasantly shining on the grey stone buildings. The hotel was almost empty; B - , while on the main road, was also between two county-towns which drew the local people like the twin poles of a magnet.
Released from operational flying I embarked upon what was to be several months of drinking far more than was good for me, in an attempt to dull the agony of mind and self-recrimination I was undergoing. This must have been painfully apparent to my parents, and must have caused them considerable heartache, but – and I shall always be grateful to their memories for this – they uttered no word of reproach.
How we spent our time there I cannot remember, perhaps I was in a constant alcoholic haze. The only event I can recall with any clarity was the afternoon we visited Jack’s uncle’s farm and I introduced my parents to Mr. Brown, his wife and his two daughters. I remember it as having the appearance and atmosphere of a scene in a stage play. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, gestures seemed limp and exaggerated and we sat like figures in a tableau against the backdrop of the scarcely-remembered living room of the farmhouse, small-windowed, lit by an oil-lamp, a heavy, dark red tasselled tablecloth draped over the massive dining table. Outside, I could see the shelter-belt of firs waving lazily in the breeze, hypnotic in their motion. My parents and the Brown family sat stiffly in their best clothes. What they talked about, I have no recollection; I said not more than perhaps a dozen words. I remember that one of Jack’s cousins kept looking curiously in my direction from time to time. Jack, now working in a branch of the same bank as his father, was, naturally, mentioned. I hadn’t seen him for quite some time, but someone said he would like to meet me when we went back home, before I returned to my unit.
The arrangements were made. My parents and I got off the bus at its city terminus in the Haymarket. They would make their way to the railway station and so home, I would join them later, to pack my kit at the end of my leave, as that day was my last.
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I remember feeling released and lighter in spirit when I left them, and guilty because I did so, but the sense of freedom was pleasant after a week when it had been necessary to cork down my feelings tightly and be on my best behaviour. Yet I almost dreaded going back to my unit, a Bomber Group Headquarters, where I had been given a sinecure of a job while I waited for a medical board, for the news that I might receive of the fate of the crew of H-Harry. As I walked through the grey city streets it seemed as though I were treading the razor-edged ridge of a mountain in a high wind.
We had arranged to meet at a little cafe on one of the main streets. Jack was standing outside, smartly dressed, tall, looking well and, as usual, cheerful. We shook hands.
“Hello,” he said, “nice to see you again. How are you?”
I lit a cigarette as we walked into the quiet cafe.
“So-so,” I replied, “a lot has happened since I saw you last.”
We sat at a small table, ordered coffee and biscuits. I looked at him and said, “You’ll have heard about my crew, have you?”
He looked down at his cup and nodded. I thought he appeared more adult than I’d ever noticed before.
“Yes,” he replied, “I had heard. How do I tell you how sorry I am?”
“Don’t try,” I said, “it’s O.K., I know.”
He asked, uncomfortably, “Do you think they could be prisoners?”
“I don’t know; it’s nearly two months now, no-one’s heard anything?”
We sat silently for a few minutes, traffic noise falling on our ears. Then he said tentatively, looking at the wings on my chest, “Are you finished flying, for good, I mean?”
I shrugged.
“Not as far as I know. I’ve got six months off then I’ll be having another medical board and we’ll see what they say then. I’ll probably go back on ops, I should think; after all, I’ve only done half a tour, I think I owe somebody something.”
“Do you think they’ll send you back again?” he asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes, they can do anything, you know,” I said, “there’s a bloke on the Squadron who’s completely flak-happy and he’s still operating.”
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He looked at me.
“What do you mean, ‘flak-happy’?”
“He’s round the bend,” I said shortly, “got the twitch, call it what you like.”
Jack shook his head wonderingly.
“But they let him go on flying?”
“Sure they do; he’s a damn good gunner and an experienced one, too. He’s not afraid of man or beast. Of course,“ I said, “there is another side to it – he could be dead by now. It’s a while since I saw him, and anything could have happened in that time. It depends on the targets you get. It depends on a hell of a lot of things.”
Jack swallowed hard.
I asked him if he’d seen anything of Alan or Peter.
“They’ve both volunteered for aircrew,” he said. I thought he sounded a bit wistful and I could tell what he was thinking.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “when I went and stuck my neck out I didn’t do it as a dare to the rest of you, you know, there are other ways of getting yourselves into trouble. And don’t you go losing any sleep about not being fit, it’s not your fault, and when the time comes you’ll be shoved into something which will be useful to the war effort, I’ve no doubt at all.”
He looked at my wings again.
“I hope so,” he replied, “it’s not a great deal of fun feeling left out of things.”
We finished our coffee. He insisted on paying for them, saying that he was a rich war-profiteer. He was probably getting a lot less than me, but it was no use arguing, I didn’t have a lot of time, and neither did he. I suddenly thought of that and said to him, “Anyhow, what are you doing here, skiving off during working hours? Shouldn’t you be drawing up balance sheets or something?”
He looked at me a bit sheepishly, squinting into the sunshine as we stood on the pavement with the pedestrians hurrying by around us.
“Oh, I asked the Manager for an hour off,” he said airily, “told him I was meeting a pilot on leave from the R.A.F. He said to tell you to drop one for him.”
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We shook hands.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, “and I hope you’ll have some good news soon.”
“Thanks, so do I.” I could hear the pessimism in my own voice. I looked at my watch. “Well, it’s been great seeing you; until next time, then, so long, Jack.”
It was some time later when I learned, with feelings of complete astonishment, almost disbelief, that not only was Jack now in the R.A.F., but that he had been accepted for aircrew training. I had to read my parents’ letter several times before I could begin to grasp what they were telling me.
Many months went by. I had been stationed at Tuddenham, in Suffolk, for a year, watching the almost nightly operations of, originally, the Squadron’s Stirlings, then their Lancasters; by day seeing the vast fleets of American Fortresses and Liberators forming up overhead to carry on the round-the-clock bombing of German cities. Late on a February afternoon I stepped out of the Tuddenham mail van, on which I had hitched a lift, at the aerodrome gates of Mildenhall, our parent station. The daylight was already fading and there was comparative silence; the Fortresses were back at their East Anglian bases and our Lancasters were waiting, poised to go that night.
I stood watching the roadway which led up to the barrier at the guardroom, chatting to the Service Policeman on duty. I recognised J – ‘s walk when she was far away. The S.P., who knew her, wished us a good leave, saluted and turned away. J – and I had met and worked together in the Operations Room of a bomber station in east Yorkshire, around the time of the Battle of Hamburg. But after a blissful few months I had been posted to Tuddenham, then, quite amazingly, following a bleak interval without her, she had been posted to the Base Operations Room at Mildenhall, a small handful of miles away. Everyone who knew us thought that one or other of us had somehow wangled things; in point of fact it was simply unbelievably good luck. In addition, it was a considerable feather in her cap as Mildenhall was one of the key stations in Bomber Command.
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Consequently, we saw one another several times a week when she, of course, should have been catching up on her sleep after long and hectic hours of night duty when operations were on. Now we were going on leave together; three days at my home then three at hers.
A lorry, known to all as the Liberty Wagon, took us to the nearest railway station at Shippea Hill, along with a dozen or so others, then we caught a local train to Ely. We had a meal there and took the overnight train home. We arrived before breakfast the following morning. When we had freshened up and had breakfast, my mother, who looked paler and more drawn than when I had last seen her three months before, looked at me across the table and said quietly, “I hardly know how to tell you this; it’s so awful, when you and J – have just started your leave.”
I couldn’t guess what was coming, but I steeled myself for whatever it might be.
“What is it, mother?”
She bit her lip then said, eyes averted, “I’m afraid it’s bad news, it’s Jack, he was killed two days ago.”
I felt my mouth open and close, then I reached slowly for a cigarette.
“But – was he on ops? I didn’t know he’d got as far as that, I thought he was still training.”
Mother nodded.
“As far as I know, he was killed training, night flying.”
She paused.
“You will go and see his parents, won’t you? They’re terribly upset, naturally.”
“Of course I’ll go,” I said, “of course I will.”
I went to see them that afternoon, after I had screwed up my courage to the limit for what I knew would be an ordeal for all of us. The tension in their house was almost tangible, their grief hung on the air like a cloud. They knew little about it except that Jack was dead; he had been a Navigator on Wellingtons at an Operational Training Unit in the Midlands whose name, Husband’s Bosworth, rang a bell with me when they told me. His pilot was also from our area;
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they had flown into a hill near a village in Northamptonshire. His funeral was here, tomorrow, would I come? It was unthinkable, of course, that I would not. His father paced the room incessantly, never meeting my eyes, Jack’s mother, her face bloated with weeping, tore at a handkerchief in her deep armchair in the corner. Their beautiful piano, black and shining, would remain unplayed for a long time, I knew, and her voice, which I had so often heard in Schumann lieder, would be silent now. The dog lay across the hearthrug, his eyes following first one speaker, then the other; I felt he knew what had happened to his beloved young master.
I met the cortege at the massive stone and iron gateway of the cemetery the following afternoon. The late winter sun was sinking and it was bitterly cold under the fading colour of an almost cloudless sky. I was the only non-relation there; as the hearse came slowly up to the gates through an avenue of trees I gave it the finest salute I had ever given to any senior officer. When I went home in the deepening dusk J – was alone in the living room, sitting in the firelight. I kissed her gently, holding her to me.
That evening, as I felt I must, I went to see Jack’s parents again. They were sitting alone, quieter than before, and with the calm of resignation beginning to possess them. Prince’s tail thumped the hearthrug twice as I walked into the room, his eyebrows lifted and fell as he looked at me, his chin across his folded paws. Jack’s photograph smiled cheerfully down from the mantelpiece. I told them I had come to say au revoir. His father thanked me for being there that afternoon, then, “Do you think you could possibly do something for us?”
“If I can, of course,” I said, glad to be moving on to practicalities.
“You know Jack was stationed at Husband’s Bosworth when – it happened, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know at the time,” I said, a bit uncomfortably, thinking that I should have done. We had seldom written to one another; one didn’t have much time nor the mental quietude in Bomber Command to do very much in the way of letter-writing, except to one’s girlfriend.
He went on.
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“Do you know anyone there? In your job I thought perhaps you might know someone who could tell us just what happened. We know so little, just what his C.O.’s letter told us, not very much at all. But if you could, perhaps, speak to someone?”
Jack’s mother dabbed at her eyes.
“Actually, I do know someone there, as it happens,” I said, “a chap I worked with at Tuddenham until recently was posted there as Adjutant; I’m sure he’ll be able to tell me something.”
He brightened slightly.
“That’s good,” he said, “really quite a coincidence. What sort of chap is he? You really think he would be able to help?”
I described George, avuncular, knowledgeable, but on occasions fiery and quite outspoken.
“I’ll phone him as soon as I can after I get back to Tuddenham, and get in touch with you.”
“I’ll be glad to pay any expense involved, if there is any,” he said, “and don’t get yourself into trouble on our account, will you? But – we would like to know something, of course.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I told him, “there’ll be no expense, and no trouble at all.”
I said goodbye to them. I was not to know that I would never see them again.
The first day back from leave I rang George quite confidently. He sounded his usual self, brisk, affable as ever, but perhaps slightly fussed. Had he trodden on a few toes already, I wondered? After the conventional greetings were over, I came to the point.
“George, I’ll tell you why I’m ringing you – it’s about a crash you had a week or so ago, the pilot was Sergeant - - . Well, I was a friend of the Navigator. I’ve just come back from his funeral at home and his parents were wondering If you could give them, through me, any further details of how it happened.”
There was an abrupt and surprising change in his manner.
“Is that why you rang me? To ask me that? I can’t tell them any more than was in the letter to them. I’m surprised at them asking you to do this.”
“O.K., then, George,” I said calmly, “if that’s how it is then I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”
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I rang off. I was extremely puzzled and quite troubled by his unexpected reaction; we had always been, and still are, good friends and our working relationship was never anything less than co-operative and mutually accommodating. That evening I wrote to Jack’s father, telling him briefly that I had been unable to obtain any further facts about the crash. He did not reply.
For various reasons, and to my lasting shame, I did not visit the graves of Jack, and of Peter, Connie and Roly, another classmate, all Bomber Command aircrew casualties, for several years. But after having stood in that busy street, gazing at what had been the cafe, and remembering Jack and I as we had been then, both of us in the prime of youth, an inner compulsion drove me to do so. I could find the graves of all of those who were buried there except one – Jack. I visited and revisited the place where I thought I had stood at his funeral, searching the tombstones round about for his name, but to no avail. I had heard that his parents had moved to B – on Mr. Henderson’s retirement and I was almost on the point of becoming convinced that they had had Jack re-interred there.
Eventually, after several fruitless searches, and as a last resort, I decided to go to the cemetery office to make enquiries. In a few minutes I had found it, about a hundred yards away from the place where I had been looking. There was a solid, low grey headstone with a substantial curb. There was the name, Flying Officer John Henderson, ‘killed in a flying accident 3rd February 1945.’ So very near to the end of the war, I thought sadly. The lettering was now so faded as to be almost illegible. Underneath his name were those of both his parents. The grave itself was completely bare, not a flower, not a blade of grass, not even a weed, only the cold, wet earth under the leaden sky.
I stood for several minutes in the silence, remembering them, but especially remembering Jack, incidents from our friendship returning vividly to mind. And I wondered about many things, the questions now long unanswered. Was he really the semi-invalid he had always been made out to be? How then had he passed his aircrew medical? Why did they crash that night? Had he – God forbid – made a navigational
[page break]
error? Why had George been so brusque and annoyed at my question?
There were no answers to be found in the rustling of the cold breeze among the fallen, russet leaves, and I thought that there never would be, that I would never know. But worse, I wondered would there be anyone left to remember Jack when I was no longer able to remember, or would his name disappear completely, both from his gravestone and from the memories of everyone who might have known him on earth?
I took the Remembrance Day poppy out of my lapel and pressed it into the sodden, bare earth below his name. Then on that grey afternoon I spoke a few words to him, very quietly, but knowing that somewhere, he would hear. And as the winter dusk was falling I turned away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I did not expect that I should be writing a sequel to this, but a sequel there is, one long-delayed…
Obviously, I have thought very many times about Jack since his fatal crash and I have visited his grave very many times also. But rarely, if ever, have I dreamed about him. Until a few nights ago, that is, more than fifty-one years since he was killed. It was a dream which was so vivid and so poignant – that realisation was with me even as I was dreaming it – that it has stayed with me, haunted me and disturbed me ever since the early morning when, in this heartbreaking dream, I recognised Jack, from a great distance, walking towards me on a riverside path. There were iron railings on my right, a river was nearby, at my left hand, the path curving slightly from my left to the right. For some reason I was quite sure I was on the riverside at Stratford-upon-Avon. I have been there twice, once during the war, with Connie and Shep, when we were at Moreton-in-the-Marsh together, and once on a brief visit when I was on holiday at Malvern. Yes, this was Stratford, I was positive. And I knew it was Jack approaching, I could distinguish his
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features, his walk, his tall, upright figure. He was as I never saw him in life, in uniform, his peaked cap at a slight angle on his head, the Navigator’s half-wing above his breast pocket. There he was, coming briskly towards me, smiling, the Jack I knew of old. And he was with a girl. Her features I could not distinguish as she approached me with him; they were walking close together, arm in arm. Even in my dream I could feel a lump in my throat as I watched them. They stopped in front of me. I heard Jack say, “This is Janet”, and I could see now that she was smiling, a radiant, pure smile, full of utter delight and joy.
They turned together and walked slowly in the direction that I was going. It had turned slightly misty. I was fascinated by Jack’s girl Janet, wondering what sort of person she was; I could not take my eyes off her. She wore a small, round hat of the pillbox type, and a brownish, quite long, heavy coat. Her lips were full, I saw, and pink; here eyes shone with a wonderful radiance, such as I have rarely seen. I had the overwhelming sensation of their happiness with one another. Then the girl, Janet, looked at me directly, her arm still through Jack’s, and gave me her wonderful smile, so full of bliss.
“We are going to be married,” she said, “next year.”
At that moment she looked as lovely as anyone I have ever seen. But immediately, as though I had been submerged by a wave from the sea, I felt an immense sorrow engulf me, because, as I awoke slowly, with the vision of that lovely, loving couple in my brain, even in my dream I knew that their marriage could never, never be. For Jack was to die; Jack was dead.
It is a dream I shall have in my mind until the day of my own death, until Jack and I meet once more and – God alone knows whether there ever was a girl named Janet – perhaps I might meet that girl who I dreamed was going to marry my oldest and closest friend, The Silver Spoon Boy, the boy who gave everything he ever possessed. ‘Too full already is the grave, Of fellows who were young and brave, And died because they were.’
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Intermezzo [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] INTERMEZZO [/underlined]
“Sign here? And here? That it? O.K., Sergeant. Now, what have I signed for? Oh, I see, one brand-new Wimpy in mint condition with full certificate of airworthiness and rarin’ to go. HD 966, isn’t it? Where do I find her? That it, over there by the dispersal hut? O.K., thanks. Probably be back tomorrow for another. Cheerio.”
“Here we are, on this beautiful morning. HD 966. Plenty of juice, Corporal? Well, I’m not going as far as John o’ Groats, thanks, just to Moreton-in-the-Marsh. Pitot head cover off? Fine.”
“There’s only me. Up the ladder. God, it’s hot in here. Haul the ladder up, stow it next to the bomb-sight. Slam the escape-hatch door. Stamp it down firmly, to be sure. Hell, the heat. Slide open the windows, that’s better. Shove my chute into the stowage. Into the driver’s seat, check brakes on. Push and pull the controls about to test for full movement. Shove the rudder to and fro with my feet. All free. Fine. Check the petrol gauges. Enough.”
“Undercart lever down and locked. Flaps neutral. Bomb doors closed. Switch on the undercart lights. There we are, three greens. Undercart warning horn? God, that’s loud. Never mind. Main petrol cock on, balance cock down.”
“Now. Throttles closed, boost override normal, mixture rich, pitch levers fully fine, superchargers medium. O.K. So – ignition on, open throttle an inch. There we are. Now, yell out of the window. Contact port! Press the starter button. That’s it, got her! Hell! What a row, wish I’d brought my helmet after all. Shut the window. No, damn, not yet. Contact starboard! Press the button. There she goes. Come on, come on. Now shut the window. It’s a bit cooler now, anyhow.”
“Oil pressure O.K., all temperatures O.K. So, what’re you waiting for? Run them up. Port engine first. What a bloody noise. Pitch controls O.K., revs down and up again. Give her plus four boost. This is going to be damn noisy. Here goes. Throttle back, boost override in. Now for it. Open right up. Hell, it’s awful. Plus
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nine and threequarters. Fair enough. Throttle back smoothly. Not too quick. Override out. Now the starboard engine. Stick my fingers in that ear. Pitch control O.K. Plus four boost. Mag drop? ……”
“All O.K., then. Brake pressure? Right up. Try each wheel. O.K. So it should be, too, brand new kite. There goes the Anson with those A.T.A. girls. God, shook me when that blonde brought the Halifax in. Cool as you please, all five foot nothing of her. Damn good landing, too. Smashing blonde, like to see her again. Like to – hey, steady on! Back to business. Test the flaps. Right down. Now up again. Fine. Where’s he taken the starter trolley? Oh. Over there, well away from me. See they haven’t got that bloody Whitley moved yet. Bit off-putting, that, finding a pranged Whitley over a hump in the runway, just after you’ve landed. Plenty of room, though, at least it’s on the grass. Well, come on, let’s get back to Moreton, might have half a can if there’s no more flying today.”
“Chocks away. Wave hands across each other where the erk can see. There he goes with the port chock. Now the starboard. Thumbs up from him. And from me. Little bit of throttle, hold the yoke well back. Here we go. Taxy out over the grass. Bumpy. Wish they’d get another runway put in, too. The one they have got isn’t even into the prevailing wind. Using it today, though, I see. Not much wind at all, but the Anson used it. Lovely sunny day. Swing the nose about a bit, never know what’s ahead. Would hate to prang a Spit or something. What’s that Oxford doing? Coming in. Trundle up to the end of the runway, opposite the line of trees. Bit off-putting they are, too, when you’re approaching to land. Park, crosswind. Brakes on. Relax and watch him come in. Wheels down, crosswind, losing height. Bit bumpy over the trees, of course. Flaps down, now he’s turning in. Nice steady approach. Oh, Christ, here’s a Spit coming in next, what a bind. I’ll have to wait a bit. Yes, he’s put his undercart down. Damn!”
”Float her down, boy, float her down. Now, watch it. Not bad, not bad at all. Over-correcting a bit on his rudder on the runway. Never mind, nice landing, though. Open up my throttles to clear the plugs of oil. Yoke hard back. What a row. There we are, sounds
[page break]
O.K. Now throttle back and wait for the Spit. Quick check round the dials again. Set the altimeter to zero. Gyro to zero and leave it caged. Where is he? Oh, here he comes, hellish fast. God! That was a split-arse turn and no mistake. Full flap. Well, he is heading in approximately the right direction. Whoof! He’s down. A bit wheel-y, but never mind, he’s in one piece and still rolling. Now beat it, chum, and let a real kite take off. No-one else in the circuit? Thank bloody goodness. Wait a tick, where’s my friend in that Spit? Oh, there he goes, taxying to the Watch Office. Fighter boys – I don’t know!”
Here we go then. Flap fifteen degrees. Brakes off. Port throttle to turn on to the runway. Hope the far end’s clear. Suppose they would poop off a red if it wasn’t. Nice and central Brakes on. Uncage gyro on 0. Now hold your hat. Open both throttles steadily against the brakes. What a bloody row. Yoke back, now let it go to central. Not too far, not too far. More throttle. Hold the brakes on. She’s shuddering like hell, wants to jump off the runway. Lift the tail just a bit more. Now. Full throttle and brakes off. Here we go – and how! We’re really rolling. Shove those throttles forward against the stops. Touch of rudder against the swing. Fine. Hold it there.”
“Feels great. Love take-offs, tremendous sense of power. Hellish noise, too. Airspeed? 50. Nice and straight, shove the tail well up, a real 3 Group takeoff. Touch of rudder again. 65. Over the hump. Gi-doying! Nearly airborne then! Plus nine and threequarters on both, 3000 revs. Wizard. 75. Runway clear and pouring back underneath. There’s that Whitley. Plenty of room. 80. Almost ready. Still bags of room. Come on, come on. Ease back a bit. Trying hard to go, almost a bounce then. Now? Now she’s off. Airborne. Keep her straight, wheels up. Pick your field in case an engine cuts. Right, got one. Lights out as the wheels come up. Then red, red, red. All up and locked. Throttle back to climbing boost. Revs back to 2600. Airspeed 120. Overrides out. 200 feet. Gyro still on 0. Take half the flap off. Watch it, now. 300 feet. All flap off. Slight sink there, feels horrible. Keep climbing. Everything sounds good. Quick look around the panel. All O.K.
[page break]
“1000 feet. Level off. Cruising boost and revs. Select weak mixture on both. Rate 2 turn to port. There’s the Oxford just taking off. Spit’s parked at the Watch Office, next to the Hali. The Hali – God! That girl was a smasher. Cirencester just below the port wing. Now the railway. And there’s the Fosse Way. Follow it home, no bother. The Romans knew how to build roads. Excuse me, Centurion, but there’s an enemy chariot on your tail! Weave left, Lucius Quintus – now! Weather’s wizard, just a few puffs of cloud at 1500 feet. No hurry. Throttle back to economical cruising boost and revs. Try the trimmers. Feet off the rudder. Nice, keeps straight. Feet on again. Hands off. Bit nose heavy. Just a touch on the trimmer. Try again. There we are, perfect, no wing-drop, no pitching, no yawing. Flies herself and purrs like a sewing machine, she’s a beaut. Check the magnetic compass. Heading 037. Cage the gyro, set to 037, uncage. Check around the panel. Zero boost, 1850 revs, airspeed 150, altimeter 1000 feet, temps. and pressures O.K. and steady. Fosse Way sliding along under the port wing. Vis thirty to forty miles, 2/10 cumulus at 1500 feet. God’s in his heaven and all that.”
“What a view, all greens and hazy blues. Fields, trees, hedges, pale little villages. Lovely country. Must really explore it soon. Good as being on leave. I’m lucky. Bit lonely in these kites all on your own, though. Used to five other bods nattering. Nearly four months now. I wonder if there’s any news yet. Write to the Squadron tonight, see if there’s anything come through from the Red Cross.”
“Kite at 10 o’clock, slightly higher. Twin. Oxford, heading for Little Rissington, I’ll bet. Wonder who’ll take this Wimpy over. Couple of weeks and it could be bombing Tobruk or somewhere. Long stooge out there. Portreath – Gib – Malta – Canal Zone. Blow their luck. Wonder what the chop rate is out there. Better than we had, I’ll bet. Spit. at nine o’clock, high, heading East. Going like a bat out of hell. Clipped-wing job. Boy! Is he pouring on the coal. Wonder if he’s a P.R.U. type. Climbing hard, too. There he goes. Berlin by lunchtime at 40 thousand plus, I’ll bet. Nothing to touch him. Take his pictures, stuff the nose down and come home with 450 on the clock. Not a thing near him. That’s the life.”
[page break]
“Stow-on-the-Wold coming up below. Must go back to that pub some time. Wonder if I’ll hear anything from the police. No rear light. Jam had no front light. Both tight as newts. Tried to tell the flattie we were a tandem which had just come apart, wouldn’t believe us. Hell, couldn’t even pronounce it, I called it a damned ‘un, could hardly talk for laughing. We’d had a few that night! Blasted nuisance, though, expect we’ll be fined ten bob each. Shan’t go to court, though, write them a pitiful letter. Got no ident letters yet, how about doing a beat-up at nought feet? Oh, hell, can’t be bothered. Too hot, anyhow, slide the window open a bit more. Wouldn’t want to drop off to sleep like I did that night at Moose Jaw. Shaky do, that. Never mind, still alive and kicking.”
“Should write home tonight, really. Can’t be bothered to do that, either. Write to Betty? Oh, Christ, what’s the use? She’s hooked up to that other bloke, whoever he is. Don’t even know his name. Hell and damnation, why didn’t I - ? What’s the bloody use of moaning about it? But, God, she was nice. Wizard girl. There were angels dining at the Ritz - . Oh, for God’s sake, stop it. She’s gone, she’s gone, you’ve bloody had it, you missed your chance. Just stop thinking about her. Forget it. Oh, hell, why didn’t - ? Christ! Forget it, can’t you? Think of something else. Yes. Yes. What? I know. Let’s have a song.”
“Ops in a Wimpy, ops in a Wimpy,
Who’ll come on ops in a Wimpy with me?
And the rear gunner laughed as they pranged it on the hangar roof,
Who’ll come on ops in a Wimpy with me?”
“There we are, Moreton dead ahead. Long runway end on to me. Two kites on the circuit. God, I’m ready for a bite of lunch. Wonder what it is? I’ll do this right, otherwise the Boss will chew me off.”
“Into wind over the runway in use. Good look-see at the Signals Area, then a copybook circuit. Here we go. Signal for transport by pushing the revs up and down again. Makes a nice howl, hear it for miles. Oh, hell, I expect I’ll get chewed off for that, though.”
[page break]
Blast him, why does he hate my guts? Those other two Wimpies have gone, must have landed. Yes, can see one taxying. Reduce airspeed to 140. No signals out except the landing-T and that’s O.K. Crosswind leg. There’s the van leaving the Flight Office, good-oh, he’s heard it. Turn port, downwind. Throttle back to 120. 120 it is. Lock off, select wheels down. Red lights out. Green, green, green. Down and locked. Ready for crosswind.”
“Rate 1 1/2 turn to port, now. Nice. Select flap 15 degrees. Stop. Lever to neutral. Push a bit to compensate for the flap. Now the approach. Full flap. Shove the nose down. Rate 1 1/2 turn to port again. Watch the airspeed. Back to 95. Pitch fully fine. The van’s heading for dispersal down there. Keep the speed at 95. Dead in line with the runway, height just nice. Carry on, carry on. Losing height nicely, speed dead on 95. Trees rushing by. Lower and lower. Throttle right back. Push the nose down a bit more. Ten feet, now level off. Lovely, sinking down beautifully. Airspeed falling off as the runway comes up. Clunk! We’re down, what a beaut. Have we landed, my good man? I didn’t feel a bloody thing. Keep straight with the rudder. No brake, plenty of room. Slowing down now. Flaps up. Turn right at the peri. track. There we are.”
“Van’s waiting for me. Good-oh. Follow it round to whichever dispersal. Go on, then, after you, I’m waiting. That’s better. Get well ahead, where I can see you. That’s it. Weave the nose a bit. Not too rough with the throttles. Bit of brake now. O.K., I see which dispersal. Bit more brake. Slow right down. Turn into dispersal and swing round into wind in one go, with the starboard throttle. Flashy! Throttle back, straighten her up. There’s an erk with the chocks. Roll to a stop. Brakes on and locked. Pull up the cut-outs to stop the engines. That’s it, piece of cake.”
“Ain’t it gone quiet? Out of the seat. Where’s my chute? Yank open the escape hatch and shove the ladder down. Just nice time for lunch. Wotcher, Loopy, thanks for the lift. Did you witness my absolutely superb landing? No? Well, you missed a treat. How’s the Boss? What was that? Do what to him? Not me, old boy, it’s
[page break]
a Court Martial offence, and besides, it’s immoral. Come on, let’s go for lunch. What about the White Hart tonight? By the way, you missed a treat at Kemble this morning. I was just standing there, waiting until this kite was ready, when a Hali. comes into the circuit. Lovely approach and landing, taxies in, stops, and what do you think, out steps this A.T.A. pilot. Wait a minute, wait a minute, this one was a dame, and a wizard blonde at that. Now just let me describe her to you in some detail, you lascivious, drooling Australian, while I permit you to drive me to the Mess. Well, now, she was about five foot six, and her figure…..”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Overshoot [/underlined] [/inserted]
[page break]
[underlined] OVERSHOOT [/underlined]
In that glorious summer they had decided that I could do some non-operational flying, so they posted me away from Group Headquarters at Bawtry Hall, where I’d been playing about with a bit of admin. work, a lot of cricket, and, between drinking sessions, flirting with a couple of W.A.A.F.s.
Bawtry had been very pleasant but it was distinctly stuffy after the Squadron. I was the only recently operational aircrew there and I always had the feeling that they were waiting uneasily and suspiciously for me to start swinging from the chandelier, or to come rushing up to someone very senior and snip his tie off at the knot. What really made it for me was the brief moment when I happened to look across the anteroom one day – where Group Captains and other wingless wonders were two a penny, with bags of fruit salad to be seen on their chests, though – I looked across and saw him standing there, quite quietly. It was “Babe” Learoyd, and he had only one medal ribbon, that of the Victoria Cross.
It was a bit strange when I found myself back on a Wellington Station again, even more so because this one, an O.T.U. at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, was set in lovely pastoral countryside, a complete contrast to my Squadron’s base on top of the Lincolnshire Wolds. As I was back on flying, I decided that instead of getting drunk every night I’d better cut it down a bit, to every other night, if I wanted to survive, of course, which was debatable. I suppose that was oversimplifying it, because if I misjudged something and pranged, I would possibly write myself off, but I might take a few quite innocent people with me, which wasn’t by any means O.K.
However, I needed something to knock me senseless at night, because I was still getting nightmares. In the end, I would usually fight myself awake, distressed and sweating, and lie wide-eyed, until the summer dawn at last came palely to my window and I heard the distant whistle of the first train as it wound its way through the trees and by the little brooks down to Adlestrop and Oxford.
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That train and the railway station in the small market town gradually became to me symbols of ordinary, carefree life, of freedom and safety from sudden death, symbols I was desperate to hang on to. Eventually, the station became so central and vital a part of these imaginings that I lived in considerable and constant anxiety lest one of our aircraft while using the short runway which pointed directly towards it, should crash on to it and destroy my only link with the sanity of the outside world.
I wasn’t posted to the actual O.T.U. in Moreton, but to No. 1446 Ferry Flight. Basically, the idea was that we picked up brand-new Wimpies from Kemble, about half an hour’s flying time away, flew them solo, following the Fosse Way, back to Moreton, then handed them over to pupil crews from the O.T.U. who would do one or two cross-countries in them and then fly them out to the Middle East, in hops, of course, to reinforce the Squadrons in the Western Desert. Sometimes they were straight bombers, nevertheless looking strange in their sand-coloured camouflage, sometimes “T.B.s”, torpedo-bombers, with the front turret area faired in by fabric and the torpedo firing-button on the control yoke, and sometimes they were pure white Mark VIII “sticklebacks”, bristling with A.S.V. radar aerials, low-level radar altimeters and the like.
One morning I had collected a T.B. from Kemble and was bringing it in to Moreton. No bother at all. Except on my approach to land I seemed to be coming in a bit steeply, I thought. I checked the airspeed, 95, correct. I checked the flap-setting – yes, I had full flap on, and wheels down. Looked at the A.S.I. again. Still 95. But, hell, I thought suddenly, it’s graduated in knots. Frantic mental calculations to convert knots to m.p.h. Ease back on the control column a bit. Multiply by five, divide by six, I concluded. Say, 80. So, bring the speed back to 80 indicated. I should have checked before take-off, of course. After all, this was a T.B., a nautical job. Looks right now, I thought, except that I’m floating a bit while the airspeed drops off, using a bit more runway to get her in. No panic, though. I got her down quite nicely and didn’t go anywhere near the far hedge. Quite a good landing, too, though I says it as shouldn’t.
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But, just my luck, Squadron Leader --- had noticed it.
“That’s not a bloody Spit you just brought in, you know, Junior,” was his greeting as I walked into the Flight Office. I sighed inwardly. Here we go again, I thought.
“No, sir.”
What the hell were you doing? Trying to land at Little Rissington?”
“Just came in a bit fast, sir, that’s all.”
“You should’ve gone round again, done an overshoot.”
“Well, sir, I don’t much like overshoots on Wimpies.”
He grunted.
“Don’t like overshoots,” he said acidly, “Are you a competent pilot, or not?”
“Yes, sir, I am, but I don’t like taking unnecessary risks.”
To tell the truth, I hated overshoots completely. You had to shove on full throttle when you decided you weren’t going to make it, and with the full flap you already had on, the nose tried to come up and stall you at fifty feet. So you pushed the nose down with all your strength and some frantic adjustment of the elevator trimmer – three hands would have been useful about then – to pick up some speed before you even thought of climbing away to have another shot at a landing. Then, while keeping straight you had to milk off seventy degrees of flap a little at a time – and she wasn’t at all fond of that process. She wanted to give up the whole idea and just sit down hard into a field, to sink wearily on to the deck and spread herself, and you, around the county. You had to be damn careful not to take off too much flap in too much of a hurry when those big trees came nearer, or when those hills started to look rather adjacent. At night, of course, you couldn’t see them at all, but you knew they were lurking somewhere handy. If you were in a hurry about taking the flap off, then, you went down like a grand piano from a fourth-storey window, and you’d had it. No, overshoots were definitely not for me, thank you very much, not unless they were absolutely essential, and I knew that I knew, to the foot, when they were. I’d never been wrong yet.
“Well, watch it in future, Junior, and don’t set the pupils a bad example.”
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I could quite understand why Loopy had been within an ace of punching him in the face, a few days previously. It wasn’t only the things he said, it was the way in which he said them. Before I could reply he went on, “You might be interested to know that we’ve got the S.I.O.’s son taking a kite out to Gib. soon, he’s done his circuits and bumps and he’s crewed up. His father had a word with me at lunchtime yesterday.”
As I only knew the Senior Intelligence Officer vaguely by sight I merely murmured something non-commital [sic] and asked if there was anything else. I was told, reluctantly, no, there wasn’t, so I saluted and drifted out to have a word or two with Dim and Loopy.
A few days later there was a gap in the flow of kites from Kemble, and as Loopy and I had done all the compass and loop-swinging on those we’d recently collected I took myself off to the Intelligence Library. I was standing at one of the high, sloping library desks, reading one of the magazines, when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone come in and stand at a desk about six feet to my left. I took no notice of him but carried on reading Tee Emm or whatever it was. When I had finished, I turned to go – and recognised him.
“Christ! It’s Connie, isn’t it?” I exclaimed.
I had last seen him in the Sixth Form at school, five years ago. Five thousand years ago.
“Yoicks!” he said, greeting me by the nickname I’d almost forgotten. Connie wasn’t his real name, either, but he’d always been called that at school because, it was said, he had a sister of that name who was more beautiful than the moon and all the stars. A shame I never met her. We shook hands vigorously.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
“Been posted to something called a Ferry Flight,” he replied.
“Bloody marvellous! I’m in that, too; come into the madhouse!”
“Well, blow me,” Connie said, “it’s a small world, isn’t it?”
We celebrated that night, in traditional fashion, with several pints apiece. It was great to have him with me, he was jaunty, carefree, entertaining and likeable. I had noticed, of course, that he had the ribbon of the D.F.M. One day, as we walked through some nearby town on a half-day off, I noticed too that his battledress was ripped,
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just below his ribs, on one side.
“By the way,” I said, “do you know you’ve torn your battledress?”
I pointed to the damage. He laughed heartily.
“That’s my line-shoot, I’m not repairing that, Yoicks – got that over Turin from a cannon-shell. Never felt a thing!”
It was about this time that I discovered the poems of A.E. Housman and, on free afternoons, I would lie on the unkempt lawn of the little cottage where I had my room, out beyond the Four Shires Stone, and would read his poems long into the drowsy, high-summer afternoons, their words tinged with the sadness that I had learned. And as I lay there, the supple, vivid wasps would tunnel and plunder the ripe plums I had picked off the little tree under whose shade I rested. There was constantly to be heard, with the persistence of a Purcell ground, the noise of the Wellingtons on the circuit, two miles away, over the lush green Gloucestershire landscape, hazy with heat, the sound rising and falling on the consciousness like the breathing of some sleeping giant.
At length I would pick myself up, stiffly, feeling the skin of my face taut with the sun, and put the poetry away. Then in the incipient twilight I would stroll down the road towards the sinking sun to meet Connie, to have dinner in the Mess and to slip easily into the comfortable routine of an evening’s drinking with him, and perhaps with Dim, Loopy, Pants or Mervyn, in the anteroom, or down at the White Hart in the village. I would see Connie’s dark hair fall across his forehead, his heavy black brows lift and lower expressively over his mischievous eyes as he told some humorous story of his days and nights on his Squadron at Downham Market. Sometimes, when we were flush, he and I would catch a train to one of the neighbouring market towns, to embark on an evening’s pub crawl, laughing at each other and at ourselves as the beer took effect, and as the darkness slowly fell, un-noticed; each of us drowning our private memories.
Once, a bunch of O.T.U. pupil crews came into a pub where we were sitting – was it in Evesham? – obviously on an end-of-course party before they went their various ways to join their bomber Squadrons. They joked a lot, sang a bit and indulged in some mild, laughing horseplay. Connie, who like me had been watching them, suddenly
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grew solemn.
“Poor sods,” he said gravely, “they don’t know what’s coming to them, do they, Yoicks?”
Poor Connie, too. He himself had not long to go. Just over a year later he was killed, at the controls of his Stirling, where, had he known that he must die, he would have wished to be, I think.
Eventually, wherever I had been, I would fall into bed, my brain dulled by the alcohol, but neverthless [sic] conscious enough to dread what the night might hold for me, waiting for the nightmares to come again.
There was one kite in the circuit, wheels down, as I strolled towards the Mess for dinner as twilight was beginning to fall. It was yet another lovely evening, and what with the idyllic existence and Connie’s new-found friendship, I was feeling that as far as I was concerned, I could stay here until further notice, despite Squadron Leader --- and his unpleasant little ways.
I was quite near to the Four Shires Stone when I heard the sudden howl as the kite’s engines were opened up to full throttle. Should we go to the White Hart with Loopy and Dim tonight, I wondered, or have a bit of a session in the Mess? Just then there was a loud thump and a silence, another thump, and I saw a telltale column of black smoke erupting over the hedges and treetops ahead and slightly to my left, a mile or so away, I guessed. The kite had overshot and gone in.
“Jesus!” I said, and broke into a run down the road. I was panting and sweating along when suddenly the Flight van screeched to a halt beside me, going the same way. Squadron Leader --- was driving.
“Get in, Junior,” he yelled, “We’ve got to get them out!”
He let in the clutch and drove fiercely down the empty road. The pillar of smoke grew bigger as we got nearer. Then I saw the gap in the hedge and the smashed tree where it had hit. At the far edge of the field the shattered Wimpy burned savagely. We skidded to a stop and flung our doors open. As I ran through the gap in the hedge and across the field, --- raced around the front of the van to join me. I could feel the heat on the surface of my eyes from
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the wall of leaping flame. The kite’s geodetics were like smashed and twisted bones stripped of their flesh. I ran on, over the cratered and churned earth. There was a reek of petrol, of ploughed earth, and of something else, sweetish, sickly, burned. An engine lay to one side, the prop grotesquely curled back.
Suddenly there was a ‘whumph!’ and I found myself on the ground. A petrol tank had exploded. I got up again and went towards the inferno that was raging under the smoke-pall. I splashed through a pool of something. I could hear Squadron Leader --- cursing somewhere nearby; I was gasping and sobbing for breath.. [sic] Then the oxygen bottles started to explode and bits of metal went screaming viciously past me. I tripped and fell heavily. And I saw I had fallen over something smoothly cylindrical, like an oversize sausage, bright brown, and with a smouldering flying boot at the end of it. A few feet away lay an untidy, horribly incomplete bundle of something in what looked like Air Force blue, lying terribly still under the stinking glare. I was retching, on all fours, unable to move further. I dimly heard another explosion nearby, sounding curiously soft, there was a blast of hot air on my face, and then there were the bells of the approaching fire-tender and ambulance.
I was being dragged by my shoulder. It was ---.
“Come on,” he panted, “we’ll never get near it. They’ve had it, poor bastards.”
We must have made our way back to the van as the rescue vehicles arrived; I don’t remember much about that part. I was leaning up against the side of the van and wiping my face with a shaking hand when I heard --- say, “Now I’ve got to go and tell the S.I.O. that his son was flying – that.”
“Oh, Christ,” I groaned.
“Let’s go,” he said, “Let’s get to hell out of here.”
He switched on the engine of the Utility as the black funeral pall of smoke spread over the sky, and thinning, smudged the sunset dirtily.
I read an article in a magazine recently. The writer had been visiting some place which had impressed her. She concluded with
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the words, “But you never lose an experience like that. You carry it around with you.”
Yes. And sometimes you feel you need just a little help to carry it just a little further.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] First Solo [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] FIRST SOLO [/underlined]
I drank some more beer and said to Connie, “The trouble with Shep is that he’s far too damned opinionated, and what’s much worse, he’s far too often right. You just can’t knock him down, can you?”
Afetr [sic] several pints in the White Hart I was feeling less in control than I might have been, but having given vent to that penetrating observation I felt quite foolishly and inordinately pleased with myself. Connie, who had also had several, perhaps for different reasons, looked at me a trifle owlishly.
“I say, Yoicks,” he said, slurring just a little, “that’s rather good. You’re dead right.”
“If you don’t mind, Connie,” I said, “I’d rather you didn’t use that word.”
“What word? What have I said?”
“Dead,” I replied.
At the time, Connie and I were busy settling into our new routine in ‘X’ Flight of the O.T.U. at Moreton-in-the-Marsh. The powers-that-be had decided that there were too many pilots in Ferry Flight just across the way, and not enough utility pilots in ‘X’ Flight. Squadron Leader ---, with barely disguised joy, had promptly nominated me for transfer. And perhaps because he knew Connie and I were close friends, he had selected him to accompany me.
“Utility” was the word for it. We flew Wellingtons on fighter affiliation exercises and on air-to-air gunnery, one pilot and a kite full of A.G.s who took it in turns to man the turrets. Fighter affiliation was by common accord reckoned to be gen stuff, that is, approximating to the real thing – mock attacks by the ‘X’ Flight Defiant, convincingly hurled around the sky by Cliff, at which the gunners “fired” their camera-guns. But the air-to-air lark, I always thought, was of very doubtful value. Our Lysander flew straight and level, towing on a cautiously long cable, a canvas drogue, at which the gunners fired live ammo. with prodigal enthusiasm. Doubtful value? I might have said “pointless” instead. How many Me109s or 110s obligingly flew alongside you at a convenient distance and invited
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you to have a shot at them? It was damn noisy, too, with both your turrets blazing away, and the smell of cordite lingered on your battledress for days.
Most of the time the Defiant or the Lysander, whichever was in action, was flown by Cliff. He was tallish, lean, dark-haired and casual, a Canadian Flight Sergeant, but a man who might have stepped straight out of a Western film. Like Connie, he too was entering the last few months of his life. Cliff, the casual, was soon to be killed over Hamburg in his Pathfinder Lancaster.
The other occasional pilot on the two single-engined kites was Hank, an American, a Flying Officer in the R.A.F., also casual and easy-going, but suave, where Cliff was slightly flinty. The two were inseparable, if only as inveterate gamblers. I learned a lot about the gentle art of shooting craps from Cliff and Hank. On days when there was no flying, when Bill, Connie and I would be lecturing the O.T.U. pupils on Flying Control systems, emergency procedures, dinghy drill and airfield lighting and also, in my case, on the layout of the multifarious internal fittings of the Wellington, Cliff and Hank would retire to a quiet corner of the hangar. Gambling was strictly prohibited by the R.A.F., of course, but the rattle of dice would faintly be heard, punctuated by urgent cries of “Box cars!” “Baby needs new shoes!” or “Two little rows of rabbit-shit!” Money was never seen to change hands, but now and again it was apparent, from the obvious tension which was building up between them, that the stakes were high.
Our happy little Flight was genially run by an Irish Flight Lieutenant named Bill. Bill was the very antithises [sic] of Squadron Leader --- whom I’d just left behind. He was a tall, gangling, rather awkward-looking pilot who affected a slightly vague nonchalance about life in general. One of his endearing little foibles was that he seldom, if ever, referred to an aircraft by its proper name. It was commonplace that all Wellingtons were Wimpies, and fairly common that Lysanders were Lizzies, but he extended these nicknames by referring to our Defiant as a Deefy.
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I sat in on his introductory lecture to a new Course, a dummy run for me before I took over the conducting of the wedding ceremony of sprog crews to the Wimpy. They had all come off Oxfords and it was a bit awe-inspiring at first to be confronted by the size and complexity of the Wellington at close quarters. Bill’s opening remarks were memorable. He lurched up on to the dais, which was, in our hangar, alongside a complete Wellington fuselage, stripped of its fabric, and also near a separate cockpit taken from another kite. He looked slowly around the faces in front of him, as though surprised to find himself there at all, then lit a cigarette, exhaled, beamed happily at our new charges, coughed softly, and in an unbelievably broad Ulster accent uttered the following pearl of wisdom and deep scientific truth.
“Well, now. This here – this here is a Wimpy, and –“ patting a mainplane as one would a favourite dog, and lowering his voice confidentially as he leaned forward earnestly towards them – “these are the wings. Now you’ll be wondering what keeps them on. But don’t you be worrying yourselves about that, ‘cos it’s ahll [sic] ahrganised.” [sic]
After that, he had our pupils in the hollow of his hand; they adored him, as we all did. Dear old Bill. Old? He was about twenty three.
Bill, Hank, Cliff, Connie and me. A nice mixture; one Northern Irishman, one American, a Canadian and two Englishmen. Then into our happy little world stepped a newcomer. Shep. Correction – he did not step, he never stepped. He would barge, blunder, or he would push, but step? No. However, he arrived, all right. That was the system all over. ‘X’ Flight had needed two pilots, so it got three. Shep was a stocky, powerful little Yorkshireman, darkish hair thinning a bit, snub-nosed, built like a prop forward and always with a challenging look shining from his eyes, as though to tell the world, “I’m only five foot six but don’t let that fool you, I’m little and good and I’m worth two of you.” In his manner of speaking he was blunt and earthy to the point of rudeness, but almost everything he said was accompanied by that challenging look and a grin, which took the edge off most of his outrageous remarks. While none of us, except perhaps Bill, were saints as regards our language, which was, when circumstances demanded it, bespattered with words we wouldn’t normally use in mixed
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company, not to mention the odd spot of blasphemy, Shep’s outpourings were liberally garnished with a single oath, namely, “bloody”, which, at times, he rather over-used, I’m afraid.
Like Connie, he had been on Stirlings in 3 Group, or rather, “them bloody Stirlin’s” and, of course, when he realised that he and Connie had that in common he attached himself firmly to the two of us. So our placid little duo became a slightly turbulent trio. Express an opinion which didn’t match Shep’s and, “Ah’m tellin’ you, you’re bloody wrong. Now listen ‘ere – “ and one would be corrected in no uncertain way.
On an occasion when flying was scrubbed for a couple of days due to bad weather, we found ourselves in the city of Oxford. We had a meal, and we also had several beers. When it came to the time to go for the train back to Moreton it was growing dusk and it became necessary to find our slightly alcoholic way from an unfamiliar side street to the railway station. There developed a slight divergence of opinion as to the correct course to steer; Connie and I were all for heading in a certain direction, but not so Shep. Oh, no.
“It’s not that bloody way, Ah’m tellin’ you, Ah’m bloody sure we passed that big buildin’ over there when we came in.”
Meekly, we followed him. And arrived at the railway station in a few minutes. That was Shep all over. A trip to Stratford-on-Avon followed, one Sunday, and we were regaled with a lecture on bloody Shakespeare, and also bloody Ann Hathaway. The trouble was that Connie and I were both reasonably ignorant about Shakespeare and all his works and couldn’t contradict, or even argue with Shep. It was a trifle frustrating, to say the least, at times.
I seem to recall that it was my idea in the first instance, to have a bash at the single-engined kites which we owned. I had been up with a crowd of gunners on fighter affil., no evasive action, of course, to give them practice in getting the Defiant in their sights long enough to get a picture of it. It was simply a question of flying a straight-line track along the line of the range for about forty miles and back again, while all the gunners had a shot. To be honest, it was pretty damn boring, except when one of the pupils,
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despite all my previous entreaties and warnings, would clumsily heave himself in or out of the rear turret and give the undoubtedly adjacent and awkwardly placed main elevator control shaft a hearty push or shove, whereupon we were all hurled up to the roof or on to the floor amid a torrent of curses, depending on whether the kite was forced suddenly into a climb or a dive. It broke the grinding monotony of straight and level flight, though, and once back into the correct attitude everyone had a good laugh about it, including me. Needless to say, the exercise was conducted at a very respectable altitude to allow for such eventualities, and also to give Cliff free rein to throw the Deefy around with considerable abandon.
I was stooging along at about six thousand feet on a day of pleasant sunshine while all this was going on around me, watching Cliff out of the corner of my eye as he screamed across and down beyond my starboard wingtip in a near-vertical bank which he would then convert into a steep turn and a rocket-like climb, before coming in at me again from some new angle. I was thinking that it was pretty to watch, and that he should have been a fighter boy. I thought also that I might well have been one, too, had I not had two early love-affairs, a distant one with the Wellington across the field at Sywell, the other with Betty who had suffered under the German bombing of her home town. But the germ of an idea was growing as the morning progressed and as I day-dreamed, holding the Wimpy on course over the placid Gloucestershire landscape while the white puffs of cumulus drifted lazily by on their summer way.
When I’d finally finished the detail and landed back at Moreton I disgorged my crew of gunners and wandered into Bill’s office. He was sitting there doing his best to look like Lon Chaney on one of his off-days.
“Hello, Bill,” I said, “have you got a minute?”
“Sure, Junior, me boy,” he replied, “and what would be on your mind, now?”
“Well, it’s like this,” I said thoughtfully, “I’ve been watching Hank and Cliff having all the fun chucking the Deefy and the Lizzie about –“ he had me doing it by this time – “ – and I was thinking I’d like to have a bash on them, too. I did my S.F.T.S. on Harvards,
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you know.”
“Did you now?” he answered thoughtfully, “well, well, let’s see.”
He lowered his voice confidentially and looked around conspiratorially. He pretended to be watching a Wimpy on the circuit.
“As a matter of fact,” he said quietly, “a little bird tells me that Hank might be leaving us soon.”
“Oh?” I said, not wanting to appear to be too inquisitive, and waited for him to go on.
“Yes,” he said, “apparently the Chief Instructor came across him and Cliffy rolling the bones in a quiet corner, and poor old Hank, him being the senior and an Officer and all, is going to be sent to the place where they send naughty boys.”
“But what a bloody stupid waste,” I exclaimed, “Hank’s a damn fine pilot. He goes and sticks his neck right out, volunteers for the R.A.F. when he had no need to, being a Yank, and just because he rolls a couple of dice they’re going to kick him up the backside. It seems damned childish to me.”
“Oh, he won’t be grounded for good, or anything like that, he’ll just do drill and P.T. and parades and so forth for a couple of weeks, then they’ll send him back on flying, somewhere. Anyhow, the point is, I could use another pilot or two for the Deefy and the Lizzie, so you and Connie and Shep might as well have a go. It wouldn’t be fair on them if I said O.K. to you and not to the other two.”
“No, of course not,” I said.
“There’s no dual controls, you realise that, don’t you, Junior? You’ll have to pick it up from a ride or two in the back seat and read up the Pilot’s Notes a bit.”
“I’ve already been genning up on them,” I grinned, “I think I know where all the taps are, it’s just a question of getting the feel of the things.”
“You crafty so-and-so,” Bill said, smiling. “O.K., then, you fix it all up with Cliffy and I’ll have a word with the other two. H’m. Is that the time? Neither of us are flying this afternoon, so how about a quick noggin before lunch?”
“Sound suggestion, Bill,” I said.
We walked up to the Mess together; I was feeling slightly excited at the thought of getting a couple of new types in my log-book. I suppose I liked the challenge.
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It was strange to be sitting jammed into the four-gun turret of the Defiant while Cliff flew it around the circuit and gave me the gen.
“She’s a bit of a heavy sonofabitch,” he drawled, “but she’s got no vices if you treat her right.”
To be honest, I couldn’t see anything of what went on in the cockpit in front of me, all I could do was to form some idea of the distances on the circuit, where to start reducing speed and where to put the wheels and flaps down, and to watch the landing attitude, of course. He did a couple of circuits and bumps for me and that was all we had time for on that session.
Soon afterwards, he gave me a ride in the Lysander. That was quite an entertaining experience. It was an ugly-looking parasol-wing kite with a big, chattery radial engine, wonderful visibility due to the high wing, a fixed undercart and ultra-short take-off and landing runs. It was fitted with God knows what in the way of trick slots and flaps. Take-off was incredible, it made me want to laugh out loud.
“The important thing,” said Cliff as we stood ticking over, ready to roll, “is to make sure you’ve got your elevator trim central for take-off – this wheel right here.”
I leaned over his shoulder and looked at the aluminium wheel down below his left elbow. It was the size of a small, thick dinner-plate, with a bright red mark painted across the rim as a datum.
“If you don’t have that centralised, like it is now, you’ll try to loop as soon as she gets airborne, then we’ll be having a whip-round for a goddam wreath for you. So watch it, bud.”
“O.K., Cliff,” I said, “I’ve got you.”
“Let’s go, then, eh?” he said, and opened the throttle. We seemed to be airborne in about fifty yards and climbed like a lift in a hurry. The runway simply dropped away below us. Compared to the Wellington’s take-off it was simply unbelievable.
“Hell’s teeth!” I said, “She really wants to go, doesn’t she?”
“Sure does,” he replied happily.
Landing was equally impressive. It seemed you just closed the throttle and the Lizzie did the rest. She was designed for Army
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co-operation duties, to land in any small, flat field. And, of course, they were used extensively for the cloak-and-dagger stuff, putting in our agents to western Europe by night and picking up others, all by the light of the moon and a couple of hand torches: that must have been quite something.
Cliff turned into wind.
“No undercart to worry about,” he called.
Suddenly there was an almighty ‘clonk’ and I almost snapped the safety harness as I jumped involuntarily.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“No danger, just the slots popping out at low speed. Now see, I’ve got the elevator trim wound right back. Get it?”
“O.K.,” I said, “Got it.”
We lowered ourselves down on to the runway and rumbled to a halt in a few yards.
“Bloody marvellous!” I exclaimed, “some kite, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” said Cliff as we taxied in, “I wouldn’t mind one of these babies for myself, to take back home.”
“No trouble at all,” I replied, “they’ll be two a penny after the war, and with all the cash you’ve won at craps you’ll be able to afford a fleet of them.”
He laughed.
“Aw, well, we’ll have to see, when the time comes,” he said.
The time never came, of course.
You can guess who organised himself the first solo. You’re right, it was Shep.
“Ah’m flyin’ the bloody Lizzie in ten minutes,” he announced loudly, one day soon after, bustling into the hangar and crashing open his locker door.
“How’d you fix that?” Connie asked.
“Ah, well, Ah’m the best bloody pilot around here so Bill said it was only right Ah should have first bloody crack before either of you clumsy buggers bent it.”
“Get the Line-Book out!” I shouted, “Just listen to that – best pilot? You’re just a ham-fisted bus driver, you four-engined types are all alike!”
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“Steady on, Yoicks,” Connie said, “don’t include us all in that.”
“Well, some of you are ham-fisted,” I said. “Anyhow, let’s go and witness this demonstration of immaculate, text-book flying by our modest friend here.”
Shep grinned and slung his chute over his shoulder, then the three of us wandered down to the peri. track where our Lizzie was standing on the grass, looking quite docile and waiting for her pilot. Shep buckled his chute straps into the harness quick-release box, pulled on his helmet and heaved himself into the cockpit. Connie and I lit cigarettes while he started her up, ran up the engine and taxied out for take-off.
“When are you going to have a shot?” Connie asked.
“Tomorrow, in the Lizzie,” I replied, “I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Shep was ready for take-off. He opened her up and the bright yellow Lysander quivered and tolled, then she was airborne, climbing steeply and joyously. He took her nicely around the circuit, a much smaller one than the Wellington’s, of course. Connie and I watched critically, smoking and chatting. As he was on his landing approach Bill drifted along.
“How’s he doing?” he asked.
“Bang on,” I said, “just coming in now.”
Shep landed and taxied round to the start of the runway again. He had done all right, we agreed. No reason why I shouldn’t, too, I thought. Hurry up, tomorrow.
He stopped to let a Wimpy take off. The contrast was grotesque, the bomber using most of the runway and climbing very shallowly away over the trees as it tucked its wheels up, leaving behind it a blur of oily, brownish-black smoke.
Shep moved on to the runway into position for takeoff. It was a lovely afternoon, hardly any wind, a few puffs of cumulus at about four thousand feet. There was a slight haze over the low hills beyond the railway station. We heard him open her up and she rolled. He’d hardly got the tail up before he was airborne, nose-high. Then he was climbing steeply, the engine howling, the kite hanging on its prop.
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“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Bill said, very distinctly, next to me. I simply stopped breathing and watched. We were going to see Shep die in front of our eyes and were completely unable to do a thing to help him. Then, at the moment when it seemed he would inevitably stall and crash into the middle of the aerodrome from less than a hundred feet, he somehow got the nose down, and as he did so, painfully raised the starboard wing. The crazy, fatal climb changed slowly, so terribly slowly, into a steep turn to port. Shep was in a series of tight turns, at full throttle, right over the centre of the runway at about fifty feet. Gradually, the turns slackened, the note of the screaming engine eased. He flew over us, very low, still turning to port, but now more or less in control, obviously winding the trimmer frantically forward.
“Bloody hell!” Connie gasped, “I thought he’d had it that time.” I could only gulp and nod. I felt for a cigarette with hands which were shaking so much I could hardly open the case. My knees felt like water. Bill sighed and said quietly, “I’m afraid he didn’t do his cockpit drill. He forgot the elevator trim.”
We said nothing, but watched as Shep came in to land.
“Let’s go,” Bill said.
We went back to the Flight Office. Five minutes later Shep bustled in, a bit red in the face. He dumped his chute and helmet on to a chair.
“Bloody Lizzies!” he exploded wrathfully, “that bloody trimmer wants modifying, it’s a bloody menace!”
We could only look at one another in silence and amazement. Surely he would admit to being in the wrong, just this once?
Next day, Bill called for Connie and I and silently handed us a memo from the Chief Instructor.
“With immediate effect,” it said, “Lysander and Defiant aircraft of ‘X’ Flight will be flown only by the following personnel.
F/L W. McCaughan,
F/O H. Ross,
F/Sgt C. Shnier.”
Bill, Hank and Cliff. I handed the memo back to Bill.
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“Yes, Bill,” I said, “O.K., fair enough.”
So we flew Wimpies up and down the range and liked it, and we watched Cliff hurling the Defiant into gloriously abandoned manoeuvres in the late summer sky while we flew straight and level. And we gritted our teeth, and we liked it. But now and again I had a sneaking little thought – I wondered what would have happened if that had been me up there instead of Shep. Would I still be bouncing around, like he still was, or …..?
I know, of course, what became of poor Connie, and every year on the anniversary of the day it happened, I visit him where he lies. What happened to Shep, I don’t know, but I’m prepared to bet that whatever it was, he would have had the last word, or, as he would put it, the last bloody word. But really, he wasn’t such a bad bloke. As I said to Connie, you just couldn’t knock him down, that was all.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] The pepper pot [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] THE PEPPER POT [/underlined]
It must have been a surprise to Connie as, just when we were about to climb up the ladder into the Wimpy one fine morning, he saw me fold into a heap at his feet. I can’t say it was much of a surprise to me, I hadn’t been feeling too brilliant for some time before that.
Things then moved very quickly. The M.O. saw me and whipped me off to London for a medical board, where I was told quite pleasantly that my flying days were over as far as the Royal Air Force was concerned, and I was asked what I would like to do. No promises, of course. I said, “Intelligence, in Bomber Command.” That seemed to them a reasonable idea, as far as I could make out.
Then followed several completely idle weeks in Brighton in mid-winter, waiting to see what was going to happen to me. My days’ work consisted of reporting to the Adjutant in the Metropole at nine a.m., asking, “Anything for me?” being told, “No”, and that was it until next morning, when the routine was repeated. I was billeted in a little hotel on King’s Road, facing the sea, with three or four other R.A.F. types and one or two R.A.A.F types. There were a few civilians there, too, among them the comedian Max Miller, who, off-stage seemed to me to be distinctly un-funny, if not downright anti-social.
I made friends with a couple of other pilots, Aussies, John Alexander and Don Benn, who were on their way home. Don had crashed in a Beaufighter and injured his legs – his M.O. had said he should play some golf to strengthen them. As he had been a stockman in outback Queensland, the idea of his playing golf was rather amusing both to him and to me. But, as an utter tyro myself, I agreed to go around the lovely course, up on the Downs near Rottingdean, with him. At night, John and I would paint the town red in a mild sort of way, sometimes exercising the legs of the local police force. I caught a glimpse, one day, of Hank Ross, doing penance, marching in a squad of aircrew types along the front. It depressed me greatly. Hank looked desperately unhappy. I waved to him and he acknowledged
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me with only a sad little smile. I thought that if he had waved back, he would probably have been sent to the Tower. It still seemed desperately unjust. I never saw Hank again.
Eventually my course came through, to an Intelligence training centre in a big old house in Highgate. Some fairly hush-hush stuff went on there and we were forbidden to talk to anyone who wasn’t on our own course of about twenty. But one evening, in the anteroom, I was delighted and amazed to see dear old Tim, and made a bee-line for him, rules or no rules. We chatted for a few minutes until someone intervened. Next day I was kept behind after a lecture and given a severe reprimand, and although I saw Tim several times after that, I never spoke to him again while we were there. Not until we met, at Niagara Falls, almost fifty years later – two survivors.
During this time, Alan was called up for training amd [sic] I discovered he had reported to an Aircrew Reception Centre at St. John’s Wood. We met for half a day, had a long talk, a visit to the flicks and a meal at a strange and deserted Greek restaurant somewhere near Covent Garden.
The end of March found me posted as an Intelligence Officer to Linton-on-Ouse, where there were two Halifax Squadrons, one commanded, as I discovered when I arrived, by Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire. Soon afterwards, the Canadians were about to take over Linton and I accompanied one of the Squadrons to Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, in east Yorkshire. After a couple of weeks there, the S.I.O. decided that they were rather short-handed at the satellite Station, Breighton, where the other Squadron from Linton had settled in. So there, among the farm buildings of the nondescript but not unpleasant hamlet of Breighton, I put down roots for a few months. And there I met J - .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I was pinning up the bombing photos of the previous night’s raid when I noticed he was there again. the Intelligence Library, no matter how we tried to dress it up, was never all that well-populated, and that morning was no exception. The photos usually drew a few
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interested crew members, Tee Emm was invariably popular, but the other stuff was really a bit on the dull side. There wasn’t, for example, a tremendous rush for the Bomber Command Intelligence Digest. Most of the crews, anyhow, were sleeping off last night’s trip, or last night’s session in the local, whichever was applicable.
This little gunner, though, I had seen him in there several times before, always at the same table near the door. It made me wonder. I suppose it was rather obtuse of me not to have cottoned, especially in view of my own feelings about J - . Anyhow, when I had put up the photos I went over to him, more out of curiosity than anything.
“Hello,” I said to him, “did you want something?”
He hesitated, then said, “I suppose – “
“Yes?”
“I suppose Sergeant S – isn’t on duty, is she?
I saw it all, then. One of our W.A.A.F. Watchkeepers, Billie S – was very much sought after for dates, and, it must be admitted, slightly blasé about the whole business. Rumour had it she was the daughter of a fairly high-ranking Army Officer in the Middle East. She was an extremely pleasant girl, blue-eyed, blonde and very nicely shaped, with a calm, almost angelic manner and a vibrant, husky voice which could send the odd shiver up your spine when she used it in conjunction with those big blue eyes of hers. But not my type. Now J - , one of the other two Watchkeepers, she was a different matter entirely. I had the feeling I was going to like Breighton very much indeed, even though I’d only been there just over a week.
“Sergeant S - ?” I said to him, “do you want to see her?”
(Bloody silly question, I thought, of course he did.)
“Well, if I could, just for a minute, if it’s no trouble.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I went back into the Ops. Room. Billie was purring at someone on the telephone and even then, unconsciously using her china-blue eyes expressively. Apart from her, there was only Margaret, one of the Int. Clerks, writing industriously. Billie hung up finally. I said, “Billie, there’s a gunner in the Int. Library would like
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a word with you.”
She wrinkled her nose just a little and said, “who is it, sir? Not that Sergeant P - ?”
“Don’t know his name,” I replied, “smallish chap, though, in Sergeant – ‘s crew, if I remember rightly.”
“Yes, that sounds like him, Johnny P - ,” she answered, with a faint sigh. She shrugged her shoulders and with a lift of her immaculately plucked eyebrows she said, “Would you mind, very much, sir?”
She sounded resigned.
“No, you go right ahead,” I said with a grin, “mind he doesn’t chew your ears off, though.”
She laughed quietly and went out, smoothing down her skirt over her hips as she went. Margaret was smiling quietly to herself and I cleared my throat rather noisily and started to sort out a pile of new target maps, mostly of Hamburg, I noticed. My tea had gone cold and I cursed it. Margaret looked up and laughed.
“Shall I get you some more, sir?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Margaret, there’s a dear.”
She went out into the little store-room-cum-kitchen between the Ops. Room and the Int. Library, which we had been told recently to empty as far as possible. This had intrigued us greatly, but we asked no questions.
Billie came back, patting her blonde hair and looking a little flushed.
“Well,” I said, “have you been fighting like a tigress for your honour?”
“Oh, nothing like that, sir,” she replied with a smile, and left it at that, which was fair enough. Nothing at all to do with me, really. Margaret came back with teas all round. The war could continue. Billie got behind her switchboard, handed me a cigarette and did her usual pocket-emptying routine in search of a comb or a lipstick or something, as I lit her cigarette. The stuff that girl carried around with her.
The moon period came around and there weren’t any ops for a few days. Funny to think that when I had been operating a full moon was popularly known as a “bombers’ moon”. Now it was shunned as
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being too helpful to the German night-fighters. We more or less caught up with the outstanding stuff; the Watchkeepers got the S.D. 300 slap up to date and Pam spent a bit of time in the Library putting up some new stuff on the notice boards and going over some bomb-plots with the crews from the photos they had come back with. She mentioned casually that one of the gunners seemed to be spending a lot of time in there. I merely said “Oh, yes?” and looked blankly at her.
I got to know J – a little better during this time, and I knew that this was it. I was very pleased to see that she didn’t have an engagement ring on her finger. Our conversations progressed imperceptibly from one hundred per cent “shop” to a slightly more personal level. I found I was looking forward more and more to the times when she would be on duty, and I tried to fiddle it so that I was on at the same times. I also found that I was looking forward less than usual to my next leave, which would take me away from her for a week.
One afternoon, when things were quiet, I asked J – how Billie was coping with Johnny.
“Well, he’s very persistent,” she said, “he wants a date with her, but she’s doing her best to stall him off. Poor kid, what he really wants is his mother, you know.”
I nodded thoughtfully; I hadn’t seen it quite like that.
“So is Billie going to date him?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know what she’ll decide,” J – said, “she’s tried her best to head him off, and all that, but he just shakes his head and keeps asking her to go out with him just once; what can she do?”
“Knowing Billie, I’m sure she’ll think of something,” I said, and we smiled at one another. I little suspected what in fact she was thinking of. Had I known, I would have slept less at nights than I was already doing, for various reasons.
Of course, I was thinking along the lines of asking J – for a date, too, but I was worried about rushing things. I had to pick my moment and I wasn’t sure just how to recognise when it had come. I would lie awake thinking it over, and thinking about J - , which just shows you what sort of state I was in.
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Two or three nights later I was on duty with Freda, the third of the Watchkeepers. Our aircraft had just gone off and we were relaxing a bit and wondering if we’d get any early returns. Freda had just finished phoning the captains’ names and take-off times through to Base at Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, along the road about eight miles, when the phone rang.
“It’s Billie, for you, sir,” Freda said.
“For me, Freda?”
“Yes, sir, she asked for you.”
I thought Billie must have forgotten to finish something on her last shift and wanted to square it with me, or get Freda to do it while she was on duty.
“Hello, Billie,” I said into the phone, “what’s the gen?”
“Oh, hello, sir,” came her creamy, purring voice, “can I ask you a favour?”
I still thought it was going to be something to do with work.
“Of course,” I answered blithely, little knowing that my whole life was in the process of being changed from that very second.
“Well, sir, I’ve got a date with someone tomorrow night, and to be perfectly honest about it, I’d rather make it into a foursome. So would you be willing to come along?”
“Hell’s teeth, Billie,” I said, “this is a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? But never mind, yes, O.K., you can count me in on it.”
“Oh, thank you very much, I knew you wouldn’t let me down, it’s such a load off my mind. You’re sure you’ve no objections?”
“No, of course I don’t mind, I’m game for anything,” I said brightly. “It isn’t Johnny, by any chance, is it?”
“Well, sir, as a matter of fact, it is,” she said confidentially. “I couldn’t very well get out of it and I thought it would be best if I tried to organise a foursome – the Londesborough Arms in Selby, if that’s all right with you. By the way, I’ve got some transport laid on from the W.A.A.F. guardroom to get us there, seven o’clock, assuming there’s a stand-down, of course, but we’ll have to make our own way back, so it’s bikes all round. We can push them on to the lorry to go to Selby.”
“Sounds bang-on,” I said.
Billie started to make end-of-conversation noises and was obviously about to hang up on me.
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“Just hold on a sec., Billie,” I chipped in quickly, “there’s just one small detail I’d like to get clear – who am I taking along?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, sir,” she said airily, “I’m sure I can find someone nice for you. Thank you very much indeed.”
She put the phone down.
I lit a cigarette and drank a mug of tea thoughtfully, letting my imagination give me a pleasant few minutes until we got a call from Flying Control that we had an early return coming back. So, for the time being, at any rate, I put the thought of my blind date aside. When the main body of our aircraft came back, one of the crews I interrogated happened to be that of Johnny P - . His pilot was a chunky bloke with a staccato manner. Johnny just sat there quietly smoking and saying nothing, but looking silently into infinity, as though he’d never seen me, or his crew, before. It was a bit weird. Finally, Pam, Derek and I got the Raid Report completed and bunged it off to Holme by D.R. I got to bed about 0400.
I was awake again with just about enough time to cycle down to breakfast. It was a miserable morning, ten-tenths low cloud and raining like the clappers. But J – was on duty and the day seemed to brighten when I saw here. Pam was photo-plotting as hard as she could and I got my head down, alongside her, over the mosaic photograph, about four feet by three, of last night’s target. No-one said very much. The blackboard had been cleaned off, in readiness for the next one. The photo-plotting took a long time, there was so little ground detail on the crews’ pictures due to cloud-cover over the target. About ten-thirty we got a stand-down through; J – phoned it around to those who were concerned. Buy lunch time we’d only plotted about half a dozen photos. One thing about the Ruhr – if you missed the aiming-point you usually hit something or other in the way of a built-up area. It was a consolation.
At lunchtime the rain had eased and there were even a few breaks in the cloud to the west. Derek took over from me about two-thirty and promptly plotted one of the photos to within a couple of hundred yards of the A.P., from a sliver of ground detail you could hardly see.
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“Beginner’s luck,” I said laughingly, and went off for a sleep. I hit the mattress and knew no more for a couple of hours. When I awoke, it took me a few seconds to remember that I was going on a blind date that evening, but suddenly I felt unreasonably, unaccountably happy, swept along by a wave of well-being which had me whistling “Tuxedo Junction” and singing snatches of “Sally Brown” as I got myself spruced up and into my best blue. I don’t know why I should have felt like that; possibly as someone once said, the mood of flying men changes with the weather, and outside, I saw that the sky had cleared to a beautiful evening.
“Sally Brown is a bright mulatto,” I sang,
“Way, hey, we roll and go –
“She drinks rum and chews tobacco,
“Spend my money on Sally Brown!”
Which started me wondering, again, who my date would be. I honestly hadn’t a clue, Billie had given me no inkling whatsoever, but I trusted her implicitly not to saddle me with some worthy but plain girl who would spend the evening painfully tongue-tied and twisting her fingers together. Never mind, I thought, it’s quite a change for me and at least we might all have one or two laughs together and try to forget about ops and casualties for a couple of hours. At five to seven I was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, twenty yards or so from the W.A.A.F. guardroom, and trying also to think up a convincing story to tell the W.A.A.F. (G) Officer if she should appear and want to know what I was doing. As I was looking at my watch for the third or fourth time I heard a soft, musical voice say, “Hello, are we each other’s date?” and there she was, there was J - , looking quite wonderful.
My heart skipped a couple of beats, I could feel myself blushing scarlet and I found I was grinning foolishly. I managed to stammer something trite, or perhaps merely stupid. Anyhow, J – laughed, and I laughed with her, more or less in relief. I felt a bridge had been crossed, or at least, built.
Everything happened pretty swiftly after that. Billie and Johnny P – cycled breathlessly up, a fifteen-hundredweight lorry with several
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assorted aircrew on board screeched to a halt, and accompanied by a chorus of piercing wolf-whistles, Johnny and I loaded the four cycles on to the lorry, helped the girls up and scrambled aboard ourselves. Loud cries of “Let’s get airborne!” and “Chocks away!” and we were off, racing over the wet roads under the trees, through the village, being thrown companionably and tightly against one another as the driver took corners at some speed, and away to Selby, the nearest town of any size.
It turned out to be rather a dingy little place, I thought, but the pub itself was clean and surprisingly quiet, no Breighton types, or indeed no uniforms at all, apart from ours, to be seen. The evening went by in a blur which was only partly due to the intake of alcohol. Billie was her usual polished and poised self and Johnny never took his eyes off her. He looked like a thirsty man approaching an oasis. Such an unremarkable little chap to look at, a mere five feet six or seven, mousy, rather untidy brown hair, slim built like we all were on wartime rations and high levels of stress, but with an infectious grin which would suddenly light up his plain features.
What J – and I talked about I cannot for the life of me remember; I was completely bowled over by the simple fact of listening to her cool, musical voice. I think we talked about books and cricket, but had we simply sat in silence, that would have ensured my complete happiness, merely to be at her side, in her charming company. Considering the rationing position, we had a very good meal in the small, half-empty dining room. I remember how spotlessly white the tablecloth was. Johnny demonstrated his talents as an amateur conjuror, palming small objects and plucking them out of our ears, and so on. We had all had two or three drinks by then and our laughter came fairly freely. He did one small, silly trick with the chromium pepper pot, holding it between his fingers and rushing it down towards the table in the representation of a bomb’s rushing it down towards the table in the representation of a bomb’s trajectory, with the accompanying piercing whistle. We all duly made “boom” noises when it hit the cloth – except that it didn’t, it was no longer to be seen.
Eventually it was time to go. We undid the locks on our cycles in the twilight of the summer evening, and by tacit agreement, split
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up into two couples. J – and I didn’t hurry, tomorrow could take care of itself and we never saw Billie and Johnny again that evening. On the way back we stopped at a field-gate by the edge of a copse and leaned our elbows on the top bar, side by side, to watch the sickle moon slowly rise. One or two aircraft droned distantly in the starry vault of the darkening sky and we followed the nav. lights of one of them until they vanished into the haze and all was silent again, except for some small animal rustling his nocturnal way through the undergrowth. We didn’t talk much, I think we were both content with the magic of the still night and with each other’s presence and new-found companionship.
As we stood there, I tentatively put my arm around her shoulders and that small overture was not repulsed. We talked about Johnny.
“Do you know any of his crew?” I asked J - .
“Some of them,” she answered, “they seem nice lads. Johnny’s lucky to have a crew like that.”
“Yes,” I said, “he is. It’s a very special sort of relationship, there’s nothing quite like it.”
She turned to look at me.
“Your own crew, do you keep in touch with them?”
So I told her. She put a hand on my arm.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, I really had no idea that had happened.”
We cycled back to Breighton. I felt a great peace stealing over me. We stopped at the now deserted road by the W.A.A.F. guardroom.
“It’s been a lovely evening,” J – said, “thank you so much for it.”
“I’m the one who should thank you,” I said, “for putting up with me.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t say that, please. Anyhow, I must go now.”
She hesitated. Her lips, when I kissed her, were cool and sweet, like dew on a rosebud.
The next morning Base Ops., in the shape of Flight Lieutenant Smith, came on the phone.
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“Is that you, Breighton?” he asked in his dried-up schoolmaster’s voice. He would seldom, if ever, call you by your own name, you were only “Breighton” to him. I sometimes wondered what he called his pupils and more especially, whether he called his wife by her surname. So I was always deliberately and exaggeratedly casual in reply to him, just to irritate him.
“Yeah, Smithy, this is the Acting Unpaid Senior Int./Ops Officer, at your service. What can I do you for?”
Smithy was not amused. He sniffed loudly.
“We’re sending you some parcels. Store them in your little kitchen place, or whatever you call it. Don’t open them. That’s important, but keep them under lock and key until you’re told what to do with them, and keep the key on your person at all times. Is that understood?”
“Cloak and dagger stuff, eh, Smithy?”
He sniffed again and went on.
“Expect them in about half an hour. They go under the name “Window.” Is that quite clear, Breighton?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
He rang off and I mused a little, wondering what on earth it could be that was so secret and new.
A sheeted-over lorry arrived from Holme and we started to unload the innocent-looking brown-paper parcels, the size of shoe boxes, and quite heavy, too. We all pitched in and got the lorry emptied eventually. By this time you could just about squeeze up to the sink in there to make the tea. Which one of the girls did, as we needed some by then. I dutifully locked the door on the bundles but I could see this was going to be a real bind, so we laid on tea-making facilities with the W.A.A.F.s in the telephone exchange, next to the Ops Room, and moved our few mugs and kettle and so on in with them.
When things had quietened down and I thought no-one would notice particularly, I slipped quietly in to the Window Store, as I was now mentally calling it, locked the door carefully behind me and took down one of the parcels. Very carefully I made a small slit in one corner of the wrapping paper so that it would look like accidental damage. I looked inside. There were hundreds, or perhaps thousands,
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of what seemed to be paper strips, about an inch wide and a foot or so long, matt black on one side, silvered on the other. My first thought was that they were some new form of incendiary device. I sniffed them – no smell. What on earth could they be? Was it something to dazzle the searchlights, then? In that case, why weren’t both sides shiny? I could get no further with my theorising, but as it happened I was somewhere on approximately the right lines. I carefully replaced the bundle and went back into the Ops Room, not forgetting to lock the door behind me as I left the thousands of bundles of Window. I put on an innocent expression and started to whistle “Sally Brown”.
“Quite a nice day out there,” I said. I wonder if I fooled them.
The mysterious Window wasn’t a mystery for much longer. A couple of days later we got a target through, quite early on, which was a sign that the weather was going to be settled. Hamburg. Hence all those new target maps. And when the operational gen came through, bomb load, route and timings and so on, right at the end was the magic word Window. It was to be carried by all aircraft. The number of bundles per aircraft was stated, as were the points on the route where dropping was to start and finish. The dropping height and the rate of dropping was stated, everything was laid down. Then we guessed it. It was a radar-foxing thing.
“Let’s hope it works,” we said to one another.
Derek did the briefing and I went along to listen, sensing that this might be an historic occasion. The Station Commander stood up on the platform first, and conversation stopped abruptly. He looked slowly around the blacked out briefing room in the Nissen hut. You could have heard a pin drop.
“Gentlemen,” he said, very slowly and quietly, “the intention of tonight’s operation is to destroy the city of Hamburg.”
The silence was so intense you could almost feel it. He went on to say that they would be carrying a new device which would save us many casualties if it was used strictly in accordance with instructions, and he told them about Window, which was designed to swamp the enemy radar screens with hundreds of false echoes, each one looking like a four-engined bomber.
Well, as far as Breighton was concerned, it worked like a charm that night. When the crews came back, and the Squadron’s all did,
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they were highly elated about the results of the attack and the lack of opposition. Few fighters had been sighted, flak was wildly inaccurate and spasmodic and the searchlights were completely disorganised and erratic. The photographs proved their elation was well-founded.
Three days later it was Hamburg again, and my turn to brief them. I caught a glimpse of Johnny, sitting about three rows back, still with that distant look on his face, as though this had nothing to do with him. I mentioned this to J – when we met on night duty, the first time I had seen her since the night we had gone to Selby.
“I’ve noticed it, too,” she said, “I don’t know what it is with him. Maybe it’s because of Billie, of course, he’s absolutely overboard for her. She’s changed too, she’s gone much quieter than she was.”
“Yes, I’d noticed that,” I said, “funny what love does to you, isn’t it?”
I gave J – a sideways look. She had coloured just a little, but smiled and said nothing. We were in the lull before take-off time. We talked about the possible effects of Window on this second raid on Hamburg. We did not know it at the time, of course, but this night was to be known as the night of the fire-storm, when hurricane-force winds, caused by the immense uprush of air from the fires, were to sweep their flame-saturated way through the city, even uprooting trees which had stood in their path. And there were still two further raids to come in the next week, plus an American daylight attack thrown in for good measure.
“Did you notice the bomb-load was almost all incendiaries?” I asked J - .
“Yes, I did,” she replied, “I wouldn’t be in Hamburg tonight for all the tea in China; imagine, almost eight hundred aircraft with full loads of incendiaries.”
“Make them think a bit,” I said. “You know, J - , what I can’t understand is why they just don’t give in now, surrender while they’ve still got some towns which are fit to live in; it’s quite obvious that we’re just going to work our way through the list one by one and flatten all his cities – I can’t think why he will just allow this to happen.”
We talked, smoked and drank tea far into the night. When they came back, the crews’ elation was now tinged with awe. No-one had
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ever seen such tremendous fires, “a sea of flame” was a common description by the crews, with a smoke pall towering to above twenty thousand feet; you could smell it in the aircraft, some said.
It was either on one of the big Hamburg raids or very soon afterwards that Johnny P – ‘s crew did not come back. I have to admit, in shame, that they were, as far as my feelings were concerned, just one of the many that we lost – all good, brave lads, but now almost anonymous in their terrible numbers, like the headstones in a war-graves cemetery seen from a distance. I knew only few of them personally; when it happened, I felt the pang of the loss, but the impact was not so great, God forgive me, as that of the loss of a crew on my own Squadron, of men whom I had been flying alongside, or with. Perhaps there is a limit to the sorrow one can truly absorb and bear, perhaps a saturation point is reached when the loss of men becomes a ghastly normality, where the mind begins to accept it as part of the natural order of things. But later – then it will suddenly all strike home in some unguarded moment, with full savage impact, as it has done, many times since.
When the last crew had been interrogated the night that Johnny went missing I saw Billie standing to one side, pale as chalk, gazing wordlessly at the faces around her, waiting for Johnny, who would never bother her again. I went over to her and touched her shoulder.
“Try to get some sleep, Billie,” I said, “he may have landed away, you know.”
It was all I could say. She nodded miserably.
She was on duty next morning, when we started the photo-plotting, tense, deadly pale, her eyes haunted by heaven knows what dreadful visions. I had given her a cigarette and taken one myself when the clerk handed me something or other and distracted my efforts to produce my lighter. Billie said quietly, “I’ll get mine,” and, typically, dumped a load of stuff from her pocket on to the desk. It wasn’t a lighter which she’d got out, though, it was a chromium pepper pot. I froze. She clapped a handkerchief to her mouth and rushed blindly out of the Ops Room as we sat silent and motionless.
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Later that day I met J – outside the village church.
“Shall we go inside?” she said.
We stepped into the dimness of the nave. My mind was still on Johnny.
“The way he looked,” I said softly to J - , “do you think perhaps he knew?”
“Perhaps,” she said, “perhaps he did.”
It was cool and quiet in there. J – knelt in a pew and bowed her head; I knelt alongside her so that our sleeves touched. Somehow, I felt I needed that nearness of her. A Prayer Book was at each place; there was just enough light left to read. I opened the book and came upon Psalm 91.
“Thou shalt not be afraid for any terror by night: nor for the arrow that flieth by day. A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
J – ‘s face was calm, next to me, as I thought of Johnny, and of all the others. After a while I closed the book and slowly stood up. I took J – gently by the hand and we walked out, shutting the heavy oak door behind us, into the dim, evening green-ness of the churchyard and the faraway sound of engines in the summer twilight, as the first stars were beginning to appear.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Approach and Landing. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] APPROACH AND LANDING [/underlined]
With the inevitablity [sic] of an experience of déja vu, it unrolled itself with preordained certainty in my dream, as completely familiar as the action of a film one has seen often before, slowly remembering it in all its detail, and on waking and thinking afresh about it, I realised with some surprise that I had never written about, or even spoken to anyone about this particular event – since the time that J – and I talked about it, that is – one which both at the time it happened and since that time, I had always privately marvelled – and shuddered at what might have been.
At night in the Ops. Room at Breighton, once 78 Squadron’s Halifaxes had taken off there was little to do for whoever was on duty. Normally there was one Int./Ops. Officer – that is, Pam, Derek or myself – one duty Watchkeeper, a W.A.A.F. Sergeant, Billie, Freda or J - , and an Ops. Clerk. There was time to catch up on all sorts of things which of necessity had to be shelved during the process of assisting perhaps twenty or so aircraft to take off, adequately prepared and correctly informed, to bomb some target in the Third Reich. There was, naturally, time to chat, time to drink tea and to smoke endless cigarettes while the hours crawled by until the tension of the time of the first aircraft due into the circuit approached. And when J – and I were on duty together (and I took some pains to ensure that we often were) the conversations were naturally more relaxed, more personal.
It was on one such occasion, when the names of people one had known in the Service were casually dropped into the talk like snowflakes on to a pond, to exist for an instant and then to vanish and to be almost forgotten, that one name struck a chord between us.
I mentioned F – ‘s name quite casually, as that of someone I had known well by sight but not personally, a pilot on our sister Squadron at Binbrook eighteen months before, and who was the central character in a very highly skilled but very high-risk piece of flying which I had witnessed from, literally, a grandstand seat, and which, these many years later, was the subject of my dream.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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At Binbrook, when operations were on, it was necessary to have what was termed a Despatching Officer, one who was not flying on that operation. He was provided with a light van and a driver, and was to ensure that in this van there was contained every conceivable piece of necessary equipment which any member of any crew flying on the operation was likely to find to be unserviceable or to have forgotten prior to takeoff – articles such as flying helmet, goggles, oxygen mask, intercom. leads, the various essential maps and charts, and so on. In the event of a sudden radio call from an aircraft to the Flying Control Officer on duty in the Watch Office that some such was required. The Despatching Officer would be driven rapidly to the relevant aircraft’s dispersal to deliver the required piece of equipment.
On one particular late winter’s afternoon, although both Squadrons were operating, my own crew was not among those detailed. And I was designated on the Battle Order as Despatching Officer. There was, as it happened, no call for my services and the Wellingtons started to take off, using one of the shorter runs, roughly north-west to south-east and passing within two or three hundred yards of the Watch Office. Once that I was certain that nothing was required, I went into the Watch Office and up on to the balcony to watch the aircraft taking off, bound for some target – I cannot recall which – across the North Sea.. All had left the ground and were on their way, vanishing into the evening sky to the east, when there was a call over the R/T from one of them which had just crossed the English coast. It was that piloted by F - .
One of his main undercarriage wheels, the port wheel, could not be retracted. He was climbing away with one wheel locked into the ‘up’ position and one which would not join it. Apparently he could neither retract the wheel which was locked down nor lower again the wheel that was retracted. He was carrying a 4000 lb. High Capacity blast bomb, irreverently and casually known to us as a ‘Cookie’. His Commanding Officer, watching take-off from the Watch Office, called him up on the R/T and ordered him to jettison the Cookie into the North Sea, then to return to the aerodrome to attempt what would have been, in any case, a fairly hazardous
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landing with a full petrol load. But it was the only possible and sensible procedure in these unfortunate and unhappy circumstances.
But F – was very much his own man. I knew him, from a distance, almost as the reincarnation of a cavalier of King Charles’ day, dark, good looking, dashing, individualistic, the complete extrovert. He might well have served as the model for Frans Hals’ “The Laughing Cavalier”. He replied – to his C.O., mark you – that he intended to bring his bomb back with him. Then, apparently, Wing Commander K - , his C.O. and he exchanged words and observations of some sort. But F - , literally in the driving seat, was adamant and persuasive enough to have his way. We waited rather breathlessly for what might transpire, as well as what his C.O. might say to him, should he, in fact manage to return safely.
After a short while, all the aircraft operating having cleared the area, we heard the note of F – ‘s Twin Wasp engines, as noisy as four Harvards, which is saying something. He appeared on the circuit, a grotesque and unsettling sight. To those of us who have flown aircraft, especially Wellingtons, it is an almost unconscious reaction on seeing any aircraft in the air, to project oneself, as it were, into the cockpit, holding the controls, glancing at the blind-flying panel’s telltale instruments, and in this case, in F – ‘s case, seeing the wretched sight of one green light and two reds in the trio of small undercarriage warning light on the dashboard.
There were now five or six of us on the Watch Office balcony and we watched tensely as F – steadily made his circuit and, throttling back, commenced his final approach. His particular aircraft, in common with a few on both Squadrons’ strengths, had been modified to carry a ‘cookie’, which was essentially a railway locomotive boiler, thin-skinned and packed with high explosive. The bomb was too deep to be accommodated in the normal Wellington bomb-bay, so the modification consisted in suspending it in a rectangular hole like an upturned, lidless coffin without bomb-doors, in the underside of the aircraft. And the bomb was by no means flush with the aircraft’s belly, it protruded, throughout its entire length, by several inches, horrifyingly open to flak, machine gun bullets, cannon-shells – or a belly landing. The sensitivity of the weapon was legendary, the name “blockbuster” applied
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to it by the press was completely apposite.
So F – made his approach, one wheel up, one down, a grotesque and unpleasant sight, the cookie protruding ominously. Why we stood there watching, goodness only knows. Perhaps we were simply too fascinated to move or perhaps we were quite unthinking as to what the outcome might be, should there be an accident, a bad landing, and the cookie were to explode. If that had been the case, I would not be writing this. Or perhaps we were just plain stupid or reckless not to have sought cover.
The aircraft slowly slid down its final approach in the quickly-fading daylight. We watched and waited, almost holding our breath. I remember lighting a cigarette with a hand which was not altogether steady. Then, holding the starboard wing over the ‘missing’ wheel well up, F – touched down, it must have been lightly, on the port wheel only, the engines throttled back to a tick-over. Miraculously, he kept the aircraft straight. We hardly dared look at the protruding cookie. As the Wellington slowed the starboard wing slowly drooped, and finally, at the end of the aircraft’s run, the wing finally scraped the runway, the Wellington slewed around through ninety degrees to starboard and came to a lopsided rest. The fire tender and ‘blood wagon’ raced up, but neither, thankfully, were needed.
It would be trite to say that we breathed again but I am sure that there were some of us who in the final seconds of the touch-down and landing run were actually holding our breath. We stood there, the small group of us, on the balcony, potentially exposed to what would have been a blast-wave of killing proportions not only for us, but for many quite far distant from the runway. Perhaps the fact that we stayed to watch was even due a degree of professional interest in the expertise of one of our peers. But the visual memory of F – ‘s landing that evening has remained with me as something at which to marvel.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“Oh! Did you know F - , then?” J – asked, that night in the quiet Ops. Room at Breighton.
[page break]
“Only by sight” I replied, then I told her about the landing.
“I will never forget that, I assure you. You knew him, too, then?” I added. J – nodded.
“Oh yes, who didn’t? He was quite a character, wasn’t he?”
“’Was’?”
“Yes. Perhaps you didn’t know he had been killed at --- .” She named an aerodrome not too far distant.
Apparently F – had taken off on a non-operational flight. On board was also an A.T.A. girl pilot and the aircraft had, for some unknown reason, crashed, killing everyone on board. J – mentioned that there was a certain theory concerning something which might have been a contributory factor to the tragedy. I will not set down here what that theory was. But I shall continue to remember F – as I knew him at Binbrook, debonair, dashing, cavalier-like and above all, just that bit larger than life, and possessed of flying skills to which few of us could ever hope to aspire.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Knight’s move [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] KNIGHT’S MOVE [/underlined]
“One sang in the evening
Before the light was gone:
And the earth was lush with plenty
Where the sun shone.
The sound in the twilight
Went: and the earth all thin
Leans to a wind of winter,
The sun gone in.
One song the less to sing
And a singer less
Who sleeps all in the lush of plenty
And summer dress.”
“Casualty”
from “Selected Poems” by
Squadron Leader John Pudney.
Once I had seen the hangar, intact, black and huge, just over the hedge as I rounded the bend of the lane, everything seemed to fall into place, even after so many years.
Everything, except, of course, that J – was gone. I shut my eyes for a moment and forced my thoughts away from her. God knew what became of Pam, and as for Derek, I never heard of him for years after I left Breighton. But now I had, for the first time, come back. Seeking what? I could find no answer to that in my mind, except that I had obeyed some inner compulsion to revisit the place and that somehow it seemed to bring me some peace and calm of spirit to be back there amid the quiet hedges, the ruined buildings, the memories, and the silent, empty sky, where among so many losses I had, with deep feelings of the unique guilt of the survivor, found
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my personal happiness when so many had lost everything, for ever.
I walked down the empty road in the warm October sunshine, past what remained of the East-West runway, and marvelled at the utter silence. The little river at the edge of the road slipped silently over its green weeds and I remembered Gerry, how he had aborted a takeoff one night, smashed through the hedge and across the road and had finished up with the aircraft’s nose almost in that river. Amazingly, they had missed everything solid and had all walked away from it. I smiled to myself as I recalled how everyone in the Mess had kidded him about it the following morning.
The Mess itself was till there, pretty well intact. One or two broken panes in the windows, the buff-coloured walls reflecting the warmth of the sun, the porch by now overgrown with tall weeds around which a bee idly buzzed. Now, no bicycles leaned against its walls, there was no C.O.’s car parked, no battledressed figures walked in and out, calling to one another – there was just the brilliant sunshine and the utter silence. And then, as I visualised the inside of the Mess, its layout, its half-remembered faces; I thought of the events of such another day of sunshine all that time ago. I saw the interior of the anteroom, the small table with the chessmen on their board, the young bomb-aimer sitting opposite me, frowning with concentration as we played, then looking at his watch and standing up reluctantly, the cracked record, “I’ve gotta gal, in Kalamazoo”. “Shall we finish it tomorrow?” I had said to him.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
My part of the briefing came second, as usual, after the Wingco had told them the target and shown them over the route on the wall-map. Most of the crews weren’t really interested in the industries, population or the other standard Intelligence gen which I served up to them, and I didn’t blame them; their main concern was what the defences were like – and, privately, whether they would get back. They were silent when I pointed out the flak and searchlight belt around the target, and a few night-fighter aerodromes near to their route. There were one or two whistles when I told them
[page break]
how many aircraft were on that night; it was quite a big effort and craftily organised so that there were two targets, the stream of kites splitting up abreast of and between the two towns, then turning away from each other to attack their respective targets some sixty miles apart. There were also elaborate Mosquito spoof attacks to draw off the enemy fighters from the main force.
“We hope that will fox the defences,” I concluded.
When briefing was over I left the hubbub and snatches of nervous laughter from the crews and cycled down to the Ops Room in the summer afternoon to try to finish plotting last night’s bombing photos. One of our Halifaxes was on his landing approach, another was on the downwind leg with his undercart lowered. One of their engines was slightly desynchronised and it made a throbbing note above the steady roar. The sun was very bright, the trees were a deep green above the huts and the houses of the village and it was warm.
One of the bombing photos was holding us up. There was only a small fragment of ground detail, more or less one block of houses, visible in the usual mess of smoke, cloud, bomb bursts, flak and fires. Pam was having a go at it when I arrived.
“Any luck?” I asked, throwing my cap on the table.
“Not yet,” she said, “but it must be somewhere near the aiming point because there’s so much going on in the photograph.”
We stewed over the mosaic for a time, trying to fit the photo in, which would enable us to discover where the aircraft had dropped his load of bombs. Pam looked along the approach side to the A.P., I took the exit side. Finally, I had it placed.
“Oh, good,” Pam said rather wearily, and stretched.
I measured the distance carefully.
“Can you give him a ring in the Mess, Freda?” I asked the duty Watchkeeper, “he’ll be wanting to know. Tell whoever you speak to that they were about a thousand yards from the A.P., would you?”
After that, we generally tidied up from last night’s effort, and as far as we could, from tonight’s preparations. I did a last minute check that the Pundit was in the right place and set to flash the correct letters, and that the resin lights on the aircraft were the correct colour combination. About six o’clock I went down to the Mess, put my feet up and relaxed. There were several battledressed and white sweatered chaps clumping about in their heavy, soft-soled flying boots, trying not to smoke too much, mostly a bit pale and rather quiet.
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Dinner was much as usual, no-one had very much to say to anyone else, at least among the crews who were on. Derek came in and said he was going up to relieve Pam on duty.
“See you before take-off,” I told him.
“What the heck for?” Derek asked, “there’s no need – why don’t you get some sleeping hours in till they come back?”
“Oh, I don’t know; I might as well be up there,” I said, not wanting him to know that J – and I had a sort of thing starting. I hoped so, anyhow. She would be taking over from Freda about now. I’d taken her out a couple of times and I thought she was pretty wizard; we seemed to speak the same language. Had to be a bit careful, though, the R.A.F. was touchy about male Officer – W.A.A.F. N.C.O. relationships. You could easily find that one of you was suddenly posted to Sullom Voe or somewhere like that, and the other to Portreath, or worse still, overseas.
I went into the anteroom. Someone had the radiogram going. It was Glenn Miller and the Chattanooga choo-choo on Track 29. I settled down with Tee Emm at a table where someone had left the chess board and pieces, and was chuckling over P/O Prune’s latest effort when a voice said, “Do you play?”
I looked up. He was a P/O Bomb-aimer, rather stocky, darkish, with his name on the small brown leather patch sewn above the top right-hand pocket of his battledress, his white, roll-necked sweater and half-wing looked rather new, I thought.
“Sure,” I said, “but not very well, I’m afraid. I’ll give you a game, though, if you like.”
“I’m not very good myself,” he said.
As we were setting out the pieces, “Who are you with?” I asked. He named his skipper.
“He’s good; flies these Hallies like Spits!” he said, laughing. For an instant, the lines of stress on his face were smoothed out in the snatched and fleeting relaxation of the moment, so that instead of looking like a young man, he looked like a very young one.
“Yes, I know the name,” I said, “I think I’ve plotted one or two of your photos recently. How many have you done?”
“Six”, he answered.
There was nothing I could say to that. Thirty trips was a hell
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of a way off when you’d done six.
He chose white from the two pawns I held in my closed fists.
“Off you go, then,” I said.
He opened conventionally enough, pawn to king’s fourth, pawn to queen’s third, and so on, and as we played I could tell we were both about the same calibre, on the poor side of indifferent. After a while, he started looking at his watch a lot and I could see his concentration was beginning to fade, but his knight was going to have my bishop and rook neatly forked, so I knew I was in for a bit of trouble. He sighed and said, “That’s about it for now, I’m afraid, I’ll have to get weaving up to the Flights.”
I said, “O.K., then, shall we finish it tomorrow? I’ll make a note of the positions, if you like.”
“Yes,” he said, “fine,” and got to his feet. “Thanks for the game.”
“Enjoyed it,” I said, and gave him the usual and universal Bomber Command envoi, “Have a good trip.”
“Sure, thanks,” he said, gave a half-wave and went out.
I watched him go. He looked rather like a schoolboy who had been sent for by the Head. A slightly cracked record on the radiogram was now telling us that someone liked her looks when he carried her books in Kalamazoo. I wondered idly where that was. I made a copy of the position on the chessboard and went out of the Mess. It was a beautiful summer evening, the sun was starting to dip now and there were some streaks of altostratus in the north-west. A faint breeze brought the twittering of sparrows; a blackbird nearer at hand was giving a few clarinet notes, intent on practising the first bar of his eventual good-night song. A Halifax droned over, to the east, high, probably setting off on a night cross-country or a Bullseye. His engines made a hollow, booming roar in the clear evening air. Then the Tannoy came to life with a hum and with a leap of the heart I heard J – ‘s voice come over, telling someone he was wanted at his Flight Office.
I cycled up the quiet road through the hamlet, which was companionably and inextricably mixed up with the Station’s huts, and turned right at the tall gable-end of a house on to the narrow concrete road which, in a few hundred yards beyond the W.A.A.F. site, came to the Ops Room.
[page break]
The sentry gave me a cheery “Good evening, sir,” and I went inside to the strip-lighting, the huge wall-blackboard, the central plotting table and the long desk with the telephones. Derek, J – and little Edith, one of the Int. Clerks, were on duty. I saluted and said, “Hiya, folks, everything under control?” It was. Edith was finishing writing up the captains and aircraft letters on the big blackboard and it looked impressive. You started to imagine the bomb-load from that lot going down on to a built-up area, and what it would do. Then you stopped imagining. I got busy with some paper-work, tying up loose ends and amending some S.D.s, then the clerk made some tea. J – ‘s phone was pretty quiet – it usually was a couple of hours or so before take-off – she was writing a letter, I think, and Derek was sorting out the mosaics alphabetically and sliding them back into the big drawer below the table.
“Time we had a new one for Hamburg,” he said, “this one’s about had it.”
“So’s Hamburg,” I said, “if it come to that,” and we grinned.
We drank tea, smoked and chatted a bit, mostly about our next leave. Derek was whistling “Room 504” off and on, and rather badly. There wasn’t a lot to do now except wait for a scrub, which we knew wouldn’t happen when there was a big summer high over western Europe. Odd calls came in to J – requesting Tannoy messages; she put them out and logged them all.
I went outside for a while to look at the sky. The Ops Room was windowless and the lighting and general fug got you down rather after a time, especially as we all smoked like chimneys. It was about nine o’clock. I looked over the cornfield which was just outside the Ops Room door. The corn was ripe, grown high, ready for harvest; the sky was very beautiful, pale green almost in one place, some stars showing, complete stillness.
“Calm before the storm,” I thought, rather tritely. I breathed the cooling air gratefully. Somewhere in the distance the blackbird was firing his short bursts of evening song. It was all very peaceful and the war seemed a hell of a long way off.
The sentry seemed fidgety, he was probably wishing I would hurry up and go in again so that he could have a quiet smoke himself.
[page break]
“Nice night,” I said to him.
Back in the Ops Room I felt we were completely insulated from the outside world. Until the phone rang.
“Ops, Breighton,” J – said. She listened, then put the phone down.
“Flying Control,” she said to me, “they’re taxying out. First off should be any minute now.”
“O.K.,” I said, “I might as well chalk them up.”
I was feeling a little strung-up; it would give me something to do. In a little while the phone rang again.
“Ops, Breighton….. right, sir, thank you.”
J – turned to me.
“B – Baker airborne 2149.”
I chalked up the time opposite ‘B’. After that, the phone went at very short intervals, until they had all gone. In the Ops Room we never heard a thing, only the hum of the air-conditioning and the buzz of the strip-lighting.
I imagined them doing their gentle climbing turns to port and setting course over the centre of the aerodrome, the Navigators carefully logging the time, the gunners in their turrets watchful for other aircraft, then climbing steadily away towards Southwold where they crossed out for the North Sea, the enemy coast and whatever lay in wait for them beyond, on the other side.
When they’d all gone, the Wingco came in for a chat. He was a good type and we all liked him. He and Derek shared an interest in painting, and after a while he took Derek off to the Mess for a drink. There wouldn’t have been much for Derek to do behind his desk, anyhow.
“Can you cope?” Derek asked, as he went.
“Of course,” I said, hiding my elation that J – and I would be able to have a talk. The clerk slipped off into the Int. Library, I think she sensed that three was a crowd. After a while, the phone rang again.
“Ops, Breighton….. yes, thank you, I’ve got that.”
She turned to me again.
“Flying Control. Early return, F – Fox, starboard inner u/s. I’ll phone the Wingco in the Mess.”
While she was doing so, I went outside again. It was quite dark now, and countless stars were showing. They had put the Sandra Lights on for
[page break]
F – Fox. In a little while I heard him coming from the south, then he came into the circuit with his nav. lights on, flashed ‘F’ on his downward ident. light and slid down on to the runway behind the H.Q. huts, his three engines popping as he throttled back. In the stillness I heard the screech of his tyres as they bit the runway, then his engine-note faded into silence. In a minute or two I heard his bursts of throttle as he taxied into dispersal. He would have jettisoned his load, and most of his petrol, into the sea. J – had logged his time of landing on the board.
“I’ve told the Wingco,” she said.
We swopped childhoods, parents and early Service days for a while, then I decided to go and have a sleep in the Window Store, on the bench. I must have been tired and slept very soundly, because I was awakened by knocking on the door and Edith’s timid voice calling, “First aircraft overhead, sir.”
I shivered as I swung my legs down off the bench and on to the stone floor; I always shivered when I heard those words, wondering how it had gone. Had they had much opposition? That was always my first thought. Had there been much fighter activity? What had the flak been like, and the searchlights? I never thought much about the target; what seemed to matter to me was whether they were all back.
I went into the Ops Room and lit a cigarette, passing my case around. Derek was back.
“Here’s Rip van Winkle,” he said, “come to muck things up for us.”
“Get knotted,” I grinned, “and let’s have my fags back.”
He threw my case back at me and I disappointed him by catching it. The phone rang; J – answered it. The first one had landed safely. Derek said, “I’ll get along and start the interrogations, Pam’s on, too.”
“O.K., Derek,” I told him, “I’ll be down later,” and he left.
He still had “Room 504” on his mind and it still sounded no better. The phone rang again, it was another one landed. They kept coming in steadily and whoever was nearest the blackboard chalked them up. By quarter to six we had them all back but two. I took a quick
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look around. The clerk was in the far corner collecting empty cups. I said to J - , quietly, “Can you meet me tonight? Seven o’clock? We’ll go to the Plough, if you like.”
She nodded.
“Yes,” she breathed, and smiled briefly. She still looked wizard, I thought, even at six o’clock in the morning after a long night duty. For a while we let our thoughts take possession of us. Then the phone broke the silence again. One of the two had landed away, in 3 Group. That left just one outstanding.
The minutes ticked by. Then I said the usual thing, one of us always said it at times like this.
“He could have landed away, too, and they haven’t told us yet.”
But there was actually only fifteen minutes left before his endurance, on the night’s petrol load, ran out. I went outside, restlessly. The Sandra Lights looked desolate in a vivid and rigid cone above the aerodrome, waiting in the silence which had now enveloped everything. Dawn was starting to break. It looked like being another perfect summer morning. Far away, a door slammed and someone whistled, loudly and jauntily. Probably one of the returned crews, just off to bed. The sky, lightening, seemed immense, the stars had faded and the trees were motionless. In a little while I went back inside.
“Anything, J - ?”
She shook her head. I looked at my watch. Time was up, and more. We were quite quiet for a long while. Then I said, “I was playing chess with his bomb-aimer just before they went. Let’s hope to God they are P.o.W.s”. We still sat, waiting. When I knew it was quite hopeless I said to J – “You’d better phone the Wingco and the Padre. I’m going to see about the photographs. See you this evening, then, goodnight, J - .”
“Goodnight, or rather, good morning,” she said.
I walked out of the Ops Room into the early morning with a feeling of weariness and desolation. What was it all about? I thought. It was quite cool outside; I reached for a cigarette and my hand found a piece of paper in my pocket. It was the sketch of the chess board. I looked at if for a minute or so, then I said,
[page break]
“Good luck, wherever you are.”
I screwed the paper into a ball and dropped it into the waist-high corn, and I thought of the seven men who might be lying amidst the wreckage of their aircraft somewhere across the sea. It was growing light now and a faint breeze stirred the ripened heads of the wheat. Somewhere, the blackbird was starting to sing. The Sandra lights had been put out. There was nothing left for me to do. I shivered, and turned away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
With an effort I dragged my thoughts back to the reality of the present, and I realised it was already time to go. The sun was dazzlingly low, but its warmth still lingered and there was a faint scent of late roses as I walked up through the hamlet, towards the gable-end and the road to the Ops Room. An old man was stiffly tending his patch of front garden, and looked up as I said “Good evening.”
“Been a fine day,” he said. He saw my rucksack. “Have you come far?” he added.
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve come a very long way,” and I walked on, into the silence and the shadows of the gathering twilight.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] A different kind of love. [/underlined] [/inserted]
[page break]
[underlined] A DIFFERENT KIND OF LOVE [/underlined
“’Tis sure small matter for wonder
If sorrow is with one still”
(A.E. Housman)
Temporization, delaying tactics, putting-off. Call it what you will. I try to justify it be telling myself that whatever one calls it – and I am fairly certain we have all of us been guilty of it at some time – it is a human failing, and the guilt one feels, if one should feel guilt at some action or lack of action if it affects only oneself, has been felt by many another person. And should one indeed experience feelings of guilt if whatever the reason for the “putting-off” it affects only oneself? But I am afraid that in the circumstances which I have finally decided and brought myself to the point of describing, at least one other person must have felt some hurt, almost certainly deep hurt, and this is what has concerned me for a very long time. The thought and the concern I have felt is something which comes into my mind for no apparent reason at intervals of time, like the aching of a doubtful tooth which one knows will prove difficult and extremely painful of extraction. The moral points having been made, it is time for me to elaborate, sparing, I hope, no detail, least of all sparing nothing of the sad story of my own actions which undoubtedly started the whole business. These events, I know, will be re-lived in my mind, as they have been over the years, for days on end, producing invariably feelings of deep sadness and of ineradicable guilt.
I think it is worthy of mention that in the closing months of my career in the R.A.F. I was successively Adjutant of two units. The first of these was the unhappiest unit I had encountered, and the second, which followed immediately afterwards was without doubt the happiest one; one where I felt that those around me were like-minded. I went, at the behest of the powers-that-were in South East Asia Command, from one to the other on receipt of the appropriate signal, teleprinted on to paper, simply by walking from one tent to
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another on a crowded-to-capacity aerodrome near Rangoon, the Japanese surrender having thankfully taken place a few hours before. I met some of my new fellow-Officers and took to them immediately. First impressions were confirmed over the next days, weeks and months. On the final posting of my R.A.F. career I had arrived on a unit which was the most agreeable I had experienced in six years. I think that was understandable when one considers that I would wake in the mornings knowing that there was no war being fought, that no-one was going to be killed among those around me, no-one was going to go missing on operations and that one would not find an empty bed across one’s room in the morning, no empty chair in the Mess, no letters to be written to next-of-kin.
From the tented camp, where conditions were, to put it mildly, primitive, we were, after a few days, put on board a small paddle-steamer and left Rangoon for where we knew not. On this small ship I was to meet people with whom I was to work and play very happily for almost the last year of my service in the R.A.F. and with a few of whom I was to form enduring friendships, now alas, terminated by the inevitable and merciless passage of time.
It was on this ship too, where I first became acquainted with the music of Elgar. One morning as we were steaming southwards – we knew that much! – I was coming down a short flight of stairs leading to what, in terms of a house in England, would be described as a hallway or lobby. Some music was being played on a gramophone there and I was so struck by its grave beauty that I stood stock still on the stairway until it had ended. Then, moved by it and marvelling at its beauty I went up to the Equipment Officer who was playing it on his wind-up gramophone. This was at the time of 78 r.p.m. shellac records, of course. I asked him what he had just been playing and he was more than pleased to tell me that it was a movement from Elgar’s Enigma Variations, called Nimrod and explained the significance of that title. Little did I know that I was to hear the same music, in vastly different circumstances very soon, the recollection of which would have the power to move me deeply for years afterwards, not only because of the music itself, but because of the player of it and what the player meant – and still means – to me.
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We soon learned that we were heading for the island of Penang, of which most of us had heard, but that was all, as part of Operation Zipper, the British occupation, or rather re-occupation, of what was then Malaya, after the Japanese surrender and withdrawal. We were to be, in fact, the first R.A.F. unit to land in Malaya. And so it was. We arrived at the quayside of Georgetown, the principal town, under the massive shadow of the battleship H.M.S. Nelson, anchored next to us. Over the next few days we found our quarters in an old army cantonment on a wooded hillside, at Sungei Glugor, and took possession of the small aerodrome at Bayan Lepas in readiness for the arrival of a Spitfire squadron and a detachment of two Beaufighters from Burma. We hunted for furniture for the empty and deserted cantonment and found ample in the abandoned dwelling houses on the island. We readily imagined what must have happened to the original occupants during the Japanese occupation.
Within days we had the Station operating and thanks to the Royal Signals, in contact with our parent formations at Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. The Spitfires and Beaufighters duly arrived. We were an operational formation.
Now that I was settled into a permanent location I had the time and facilities to write a letter to J – every day, as she did to me. We had been engaged to be married for just under two years and there was a clear agreement between us that we would not be married until after we were both settled into civilian life again. Never did either of us doubt the promises made to one another and despite the time and distance which separated us, neither of us doubted the fidelity or behaviour of the other. J – was a W.A.A.F. Sergeant on an operational bomber station, now thankfully converted to peaceful purposes, and she was surrounded by some hundreds of both W.A.A.F. and R.A.F. personnel. As for me, my surroundings were peopled exclusively by men. The relationship between J – and I was firmly founded on mutual trust.
It had been decided that we should participate in a Service of Thanksgiving in one of the churches in Georgetown, and the arrangements were soon made, as were the arrangements for a victory march-past of all the armed services in Georgetown’s Victoria Park.
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I suppose there were over 100 of us to attend the service, which was held in the Chinese Methodist Church on a pleasant evening. A sizeable Chinese contingent were also present, men and women, all beautifully dressed in white. I was near to the right hand end of a pew fairly near to the front of the church, and as I took my place the organ was being played. To my amazement and delight I immediately recognised the tune as none other but ‘Nimrod’, which I had only recently come to know and which had made such an impression on me on the boat coming down from Rangoon. Smiling to myself, I looked up and to my right to see if it was one of our number who was the organist. My further surprise was that it was not anyone that I knew, but someone I took to be a Chinese youth in a white surplice. And then I saw that I was again mistaken; the organist was a Chinese girl in a long white dress. As she finished ‘Nimrod’ she moved almost seamlessly into a Chopin E Minor Prelude whose tune, full of yearning, almost brought tears into my eyes.
The service itself was jointly conducted by a Chinese clergyman about 50 years old and of almost ascetic appearance, and our own Methodist Padre. During the service an announcement was made that light refreshments would be served in the church hall afterwards and I determined to be there, partly from personal preference and partly because as Wing Adjutant it would obviously be my duty not to return immediately to the cantonment at Glugor but to show a degree of sociability towards the local people who were our hosts.
It dawned on me that since I had left England more than six months previously I had never seen a member of the opposite sex in that time, nor even heard a female voice. My mother, on my embarkation leave and J – immediately prior to my going on leave, had been the last two women to whom I had spoken.
I wondered, as, the service over, I went into the fairly crowded church hall, whether the girl organist would be there so that I could tell her how I had enjoyed and been moved by her choice of music. She was indeed there, one of those serving refreshments at a line of tables at one side of the hall. I was extremely pleased, went straight across to her, and smiling, spoke to her, complimenting
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her on her playing.
She smiled depracatingly [sic] and brushed away with her hand one side of the curtain of her collar-length black hair from her face, a gesture which, so characteristic of her, I have recalled very many times since. Her voice was soft, musical and charmingly accented, reminding me forcibly of J – ‘s own voice. She apologised for not having played well; she said she was out of practice. These few seconds were the start of an utterly delightful, all-too-brief, but quite unforgettable friendship. It became a friendship, and only that. Nothing more. During the time that I knew her I never once touched her, not even to shake hands when eventually I left Malaya for good. (‘For good’? I was in two minds about that. I felt I was being torn apart). My promises to J – were unbreakable and at no time did I think even of the possibility of breaking them. We were engaged to be married; we would be married as soon as it could be managed when I returned to the U.K. Strangely, I have only just discovered some poignantly applicable words in a chanson by the 14th century Guillaume de Machaut –
‘…. in a foreign land,
You who bear sweetness and beauty
White and red like a rose or lily ….
The radiance of your virtue
Shines brighter than the Pole Star ….
Fair one, elegant, frank and comely,
Imbued with all modesty of demeanour.’
I was not alone in making a friend in the local community; there were at least two other Officers to my knowledge who formed attachments of one sort or the other while we were on the island.
And at home? J - , in her daily letters to me occasionally mentioned going to dances on the aerodrome where she was stationed and I presumed that obviously she danced in the arms of men. But I trusted her as implicitly as I hope she trusted me. She mentioned two men, both Australian pilots, by their nicknames. One of them was killed, with all his crew, when they crashed within sight of the aerodrome on returning from an op. No reason for the crash was ever
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established. But to my discredit I could not help feeling a twinge - - perhaps more than that – of jealousy whenever I read their names in her letters. And some time after J – and I were married, while we were once talking about wartime days and nights, quite out of the blue she said, only half-jokingly, “If I hadn’t married you I would have married an Australian”. I remember that I smiled but said nothing. What could I say?
I find it difficult now to describe Chiau Yong adequately as I saw her then and as I think of her now, without using trite phrases or words which in this age of cynicism would be sneered at or greeted with unbelieving or sarcastic laughter. But then, and over the weeks which followed I was charmed by her placid nature, her smiling, childlike innocence, her undoubted beauty and her impish sense of humour.
That evening in the church hall, as I chatted to her, standing as we were at opposite sides of the table of refreshments, I felt a growing happiness which I had not known for a long time stealing over me and calming me, as though the war, with all the tragedies which I had seen and experienced, had never taken place.
When, regretfully, it was time for me to go I had learned her name and that she was the daughter of the clergyman whose church this was. I had also, hesitantly and tentatively, expecting nothing except possibly a polite rebuff, asked if I might see her again by coming to hear her organ practice, whenever that might be. She shyly consented and I felt, as I left the hall, that my feet were hardly touching the ground. I think I must have been smiling foolishly, but fortunately no-one commented as we boarded the gharries to return to Glugor.
As often as I possibly could I went to the church and sat in a pew near to the front, where I could see her sitting at the organ console, while she practised, content to listen to the music she made and to watch her as she played, quite unperturbed that I was there, a few feet away from her, listening and watching. Sometimes I went with her into her home, where she played the piano for me. And often we talked. Her English was truly excellent, somewhat reminiscent in her use of words and phrases of the Victorian era, but none the less lucid and charming to hear spoken
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in her soft, lilting voice. We talked about the music she played; she asked what sort of music I liked. We talked a little about our respective backgrounds. She was keen to learn anything about England. I mentioned one or two of my wartime experiences but asked for no details of hers or of her family’s under the Japanese occupation. I developed an interest to scratch the surface of knowledge of the Chinese language. Her own dialect, and that of her mother, who spoke no English, unlike her father and her sister, was Hokkien. She and her sister, who joined us on one occasion when we sat talking, amused themselves and entertained me by translating my name into written Chinese ideographs, which they pronounced as ‘Yo-min’. Whenever Chiau Yong wished to draw my attention to something or ask me a question, it was always prefaced by her saying ‘Mister Yo-min….’ . I suppose in her strict upbringing, which I assumed she had had, the use of my Christian name would have been seen as unduly familiar.
She taught me the numerals from one to ten and chuckled delightfully behind her small hand at my unavailing efforts to pronounce the words for ‘one’ and ‘seven’ correctly. To my ears they sounded identical; I am afraid that I was an obtuse pupil. I asked her about her own name; she told me that it meant ‘shining countenance’ which, I thought, could not have been more appropriate. As to her age, I never enquired. I would have put her as being slightly younger than I. I was 24 at the time, she would be possibly around 20, I thought.
I met her parents on at least one occasion. They very kindly invited me to come to their home for an evening meal, which I was glad and honoured to do. Two things stand out clearly in my mind about that occasion: the number of different languages spoken around the table and the sense of peacefulness which surrounded us. Her mother, a quiet middle-aged lady, simply dressed in black, spoke only Hokkien which, if she addressed me, was translated by Chiau Yong, as was my reply to her mother. Her father, the minister, spoke excellent English in a calm and measured manner. Her sister, Chiau Gian and her rather quiet younger brother spoke English too, for my benefit. Chiau Yong, who had told me that she was learning Mandarin, the classical Chinese tongue, spoke in English, of course, to me, in Hokkien to her mother and in Malay to the houseboy who appeared from time to time on his domestic errands.
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After I had visited their home on several occasions to see Chiau Yong and to hear her play, I was slightly surprised when one afternoon, as we were talking together, a pilot from the Spitfire squadron which had arrived came into the room. I knew D – P – well enough to talk to, but I thought, in my limited understanding of such things, he did not fit into my preconceived idea of what a fighter pilot should be like. He was, from what I had seen of him in the Mess, not only slightly older-looking than the other pilots, with somewhat thinning hair, but also of a quieter disposition than most of the others. However, a Spitfire pilot he was, whatever ideas I had formed about the differences between them and bomber pilots such as I had been. I gathered he had come to see Chiau Yong’s father, and not being interested in the reason for his visit I promptly forgot about him after we had exchanged polite enough greetings on this and on one or two further occasions when he came to the house to see Mr. Ng.
I knew that my time on the island and indeed in the R.A.F. must shortly come to an end. Being an administrative officer, as Adjutant, I could almost forecast when my time would come to ‘get on the boat’ and while others around me were obviously in a fever of impatience to get back to ‘civvy street’, as it was always called, I found my own state of mind to be more in the nature of calm acceptance, knowing that while I would be returning to J - , whom I loved and to whom I would be married, somehow, somewhere and at some time, I had spent a quarter of my life and almost all my adult life in R.A.F. uniform and would find things difficult or indeed incomprehensible.
At about this time our unit, 185 Wing, received orders to move across to the mainland, into Province Wellesley, to become R.A.F. Station Butterworth, leaving very good and well-appointed accommodation for something not quite so commodious. But there was a very good ferry service between Butterworth (which local people knew as Mata Kuching) and Georgetown, so I was still within easy reach of the town, its cafes, good sports facilities which were well used by us all, and above all, still within easy reach of Chiau Yong.
Towards the end of my service at Butterworth, on one visit to her, she suggested that we take a cycle ride to see some nearby parts
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of the island which were strange to me, and this we did for a couple of hours, along deserted roads, up hillsides, almost always under the cover of trees with their blossoms, so exotic to my eyes, with their birdsong, and the chattering and calling of monkeys and chipmunks.
The idyll had to end. I think my unconscious mind has, as a defence mechanism, obliterated the recollection of our goodbyes, for I can remember not one single thing about it. It is as though it had never happened. But it must have done, of course. I returned to England, a stranger to a strange land. Standards had changed, attitudes had changed, there was no longer the feeling of one-ness, of co-operation and togetherness which the war had engendered. It seemed now as though it were ‘every man for himself and damn the others’. I let a decent interval of two or three days pass as I settled in at home with my parents then I travelled south to be with J - . It was a happy but strange reunion. Strange to see her in civilian clothes, strange to see her leave to catch an early train to Brighton to work for the South Eastern Gas Board. All our talk was of when, where and how we were going to be married and where we would live. In the end, with the willing help of my parents, I found very basic accommodation in my home town, as I had agreed with J – that I needed to return to my old occupation and to obtain a necessary qualification as soon as possible.
J – and I were married in the autumn from her aunt’s home in Surrey and after our honeymoon in Edinburgh we were thrust into the realities of married life in cramped surroundings, comprehensive rationing, with a shared kitchen, and where even the basics of living necessitated stringent saving on my salary, with all of which J – coped amazingly well. I had to study hard in the evenings in the same small living room where J – was usually reading or knitting, deprived of the radio so as not to disturb me. Settling down at work was none too easy. My superiors were a man who had somehow missed the first World War and who was too old for the Second, his deputy, who had tried hard to dissuade me from volunteering for aircrew on the grounds that I would be probably be instrumental in killing people and who himself, had he not been reserved from military service as a key employee would have been compelled to describe himself as a conscientious objector. There were also two ex-R.A.F. men, who in six years of service had attained the respective ranks of Corporal
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and of Leading Aircraftman. Perhaps because I had outranked them it became apparent that any particularly physically dirty or awkward job was allocated to me. I accepted the situation as a continuation of military discipline, as I did when the office clerk, a lady of mature years, when I politely declined to do part of her far less than arduous work for her (so that she would have more time for gossiping, I suspected), told me rather angrily and unimaginatively that since “I’d been away” I had changed, which I thought was something of an understatement. I never talked of my wartime experiences and no-one asked me a single question. All they knew was that I had flown aeroplanes, been over Germany and finished my career in the Far East. The rest was silence.
Having neither a telephone nor a car I kept in touch with friends I had made in the R.A.F. by letter and rarely did a week go by without news from someone, either in the U.K. or some other part of the globe. My correspondents, of course, included Chiau Yong, whom I had told in a letter that I was finally married, and had given her my address. I certainly had not forgotten her and whenever I thought of her I smiled mentally at the remembrance of her charming company and her music-making.
At this time, although of course there was no means of knowing it, J – was sickening for a serious, potentially fatal illness, which within months was to take her into sanatoria for more than a year of her young life. Whether this slow decline in her health, coupled with the novelty of her surroundings and circumstances contributed to the short and low-key breakfast table conversation which took place between us I do not know, but I suspect it might have done so.
I remember vividly that it was a Saturday morning. There were two letters for us, one for J – and one for me, which, to my delight I saw was from Chiau Yong. We opened our respective mail at the breakfast table. The letter was typical of Chiau Yong’s nature – pleasant, equable, written in beautiful English and containing some mildly jocular reference to something I must have once said to her about settling down into civilian life. It contained no word of love; it ended without those conventional little crosses which were the well-known signs for kisses. I would have been astonished beyond measure if it had done so. J – had finished reading her own letter. I smiled across the table and said “From Chiau Yong. Read it, darling”.
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She took it without a word and read it expressionlessly. I had no inkling of what was to come as she handed the letter unsmilingly back to me. Looking directly at me, she said “I don’t think it’s right that she should be writing to a married man like that and I think you should tell her so”.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I was completely taken aback with shock and surprise. I had known J – for more than three years during which time we had seen eye-to-eye on almost everything and no word of disagreement had ever passed between us. But I recovered my composure quickly and knowing that one’s wife must come first in everything, I said “All right”.
I immediately left the table, got the writing pad and sitting down again in front of J – I wrote the cruellest words that I have ever in my whole life composed. My opening words are to this day burned into my memory.
“Dear Chiau Yong”, I wrote, “In England, a married man does not write letters to another girl”. And I continued briefly that the correspondence between us must now stop. It took about three minutes. I handed the letter wordlessly to J – who read it and gave it back to me with a nod. “Yes,” she said.
Chiau Yong’s name was never again mentioned during our married life, but I cannot and would not pretend that, happily married as we were for almost 40 years, I never thought of Chiau Yong. For I have thought of her often and I have been deeply and bitterly troubled that I must have been the cause of her suffering so much shock and pain so unexpectedly and, in my eyes, without any reason, and certainly not by any misdeed of hers, intentional or otherwise. I have prayed again and again over the years, and still do, that she might have eventually forgiven me. I never saw her again; I never heard from her again. Whether she is alive or dead, was or is happy or unhappy, I do not know, but I do know that she brought light and sweetness in unbelievable measure into my life and that our short and beautiful friendship was as innocent in every respect as any relationship could be.
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There is a curious and disturbingly bitter postscript to this unhappy episode in my life. J –‘s parents lived in Worthing and naturally she wanted to see them and her unmarried younger sister whenever she could. We had not much money, but by dint of hard saving we were able to spend two or three weeks every summer, usually during the Worthing Cricket Week, with her parents. One summer’s day, not all that many years before she died, J – and I were walking through the park near to the Worthing sea front. We left the park and crossed the road, going towards Lancing, still near to the sea. On the corner stood a church whose denomination I did not know – until I read on a notice board erected near to the church door, “Minister – D. P. –“ I looked away quickly before my shock and astonishment became too obvious. It could only have been the Spitfire pilot from Penang who used to visit Chiau Yong’s father, presumably for some sort of guidance or instruction as to his post war vocation. If things had been other than they were I would have gone immediately with J – to seek him out, to talk over the times when we first met, but of course Chiau Yong’s name would have come into our conversation. I walked on in silence, as though nothing untoward had happened, but with my mind in a turmoil. So J – never knew about D – P – , about his nearness and of the memories I still had of sunlit afternoons in the church hall in Georgetown where I would sit talking with that beautiful young girl in her long white dress.
Was I in love with Chiau Yong? Can one be in love with two people at once? Was that possible when I never stopped loving J - ? These are questions I have many times asked myself. The only self-convincing conclusion to which I can reasonably arrive is while there was no element whatsoever of the physical aspect of love in my relationship with her, yet I feel that the affection which I held and hold for her, whatever her feelings might have been for me, was more than mere friendship, that this was a different kind of love. Christ exhorted us to love one another. We were both Christians and I think that this is what He meant us to feel for one another.
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And so now, very often, while I have been writing this belated account of something which has haunted me for a very long time, and very often since I wrote that terrible, wounding letter, I remember with a sort of poignant gratitude and happiness, bitter-sweet happiness, the beauty of her nature and her innocent sweetness and I thank God for the gift of happiness which she gave me. But at the same time I feel a profound and bitter guilt and sadness, knowing that the dreadful hurt which she must have suffered and perhaps for years remembered was due to no fault of hers but was entirely due to me.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Mi querer tanto vos quiere,
muy graciosa donzella,
que por vos mi vida muere
y de vos no tiene querella.
Tanto sois de mi querida
con amor i lealtad,
que de vos non se que diga
viendo vestra onestad.
Si mi querer tanto vos quiere,
causalo que sois tan bella,
que por vos mi vida muere
y de vos no tiene querella.
(Enrique, d. 1488)
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[inserted] [underlined] Sun on a chequered tea-cosy [/underlined] [/inserted]
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O where are you going, Sir Rollo and Sir Tabarie,
Sir Duffy and Sir Dinadan, you four proud men,
With your battlecries [sic] and banners,
Your high and haughty manners,
O tell me, tell me, tell me,
Will you ride this way again?
(School Speech Day song, 1936.)
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[underlined] SUN ON A CHEQUERED TEA-COSY [/undelrined]
It was Zhejian green tea. I poured the water on, placed the lid carefully on the pot and took the tea-cosy in my left hand. The sun through the kitchen window shone brightly across its red and green checks. And stirred some memory, deep down in the recesses of my mind. Those checks had some significance, somewhere from a long way back. I stood there, looking down at the covered teapot and let myself relax until the realisation slowly dawned. I was looking again at the band around Ivor’s R.A.F. peaked cap when he was an apprentice at Halton, before the war, and I found myself thinking back to the times I had walked with him along the cliffs, hearing the gulls screaming overhead and wheeling in the sunlight, laughing with him as he sang “Shaibah Blues”, with the waves crashing on to the rocks below.
I never thought I would find myself in the position of trying to do a small thing to defend Ivor, after all this time, but, of course, there’s no one else left to do it now. Looking back over it, although so many years have passed since H – wrote what he did, it still seems to me that they were very cruel words to use, especially as Ivor had no means of defending himself, no right of reply nor of appeal. It was something so barbed that it eventually acquired, through its re-telling, the significance and nature of a legend, and in the perverse way of things it elevated Ivor to the status of a minor hero. But all the same, at the time it took place I could see it had made a deep and lasting impression on him, young and resilient as he was. And now, to me, at any rate, H – ‘s words about Ivor have acquired a poignancy which can never to expunged.
Ivor need not, of course, have let anyone into the secret; one didn’t do that sort of thing, very often, at school, in case it was thought that one was being sissy or trying to attract attention and sympathy, but it was sufficient to indicate to me, and to John, I believe, who was there at the time, how deeply it had struck home, when Ivor approached us one day on the Second Field, before school went in.
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It was the beginning of the Autumn term. The field behind the woodwork room looked bare and open without the cricket nets; the marks of the bowlers’ run-ups and of the batting block-holes could still be seen. The rugby pitch, away down the slight slope, looked very green and inviting with its newly painted posts and flawlessly straight white lines. During the winter months I lived for rugby and thought of little else; scholastic subjects took a poor second place.
As was the custom, about half the school were engaged in punting a single rugger ball around, more or less at random, before lessons started, competing with one another to catch it then punt it as far as one could again. It sounds, and looked, I suppose, pointless. But it was rare that anyone in any match missed catching a kick by the opposition, and no-one at all would dream of letting the ball bounce before he attempted to take it. I was squinting up into the sun at the flight of the ball when I heard someone call, “Hey! Yoicks!”
I turned to see Ivor. John, who was nearby, grinned when he saw him and came over, with his rather stiff-legged, rocking walk. Ivor and I exchanged the usual new-term greetings and repartee – where had we been, had we seen the latest laurel and Hardy picture, and so on. Then, surprisingly, for the old term was now but a hazy memory, Ivor said, “What was your report like?”
“My report?” I repeated in astonishment.
“Yeah, what was it like?” Ivor repeated, attempting a casual nonchalance.
I was surprised at his interest in that, because Ivor, more so than I, perhaps, was not particularly scholastically minded. He had the build of an athlete, taller than me by four or five inches, heavier by almost a stone, with dark, short-cropped hair, a freckled face and a pugnacious jaw. He moved with the natural athlete’s springy lope. He was a more than adequate boxer, a hard-working and aggressive lock forward and, during the summer, a forthright, attacking middle order batsman, as well as being a bowler of fearsome pace and hostility, if rather lacking in accuracy.
“What was it like, then, your report?” he repeated insistently.
To be truthful, I could hardly remember much about it; I took little interest in it, apart from my French result and the comments opposite “Games”. My parents rarely commented on it either, except to tell me, with some regularity, that I would have to pull my socks up.
“Oh, all right, I suppose,“ I said off-handedly to Ivor. “I was top in French,” I added rather smugly. He ignored that.
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“What did H – have to say – about your Speech Training?”
I looked at him in amazement. Speech Training? It just didn’t count; there was no exam., no placings, just remarks on the term’s progress, or lack of it.
For a short while around this period of time, the powers-that-were quite rightly decided that we should be put on the path towards becoming at least partly comprehensible in our speech to someone who might live more than half-a-dozen miles away. And Mr. H - , as a recent graduate from Oxbridge, was deputed to perform this function. It must be said that he did so with rather bitter sarcasm, delivered under a thin veil of feigned jocularity, which did little to impart in us either the ability, or indeed the desire to speak our mother tongue in a widely acceptable form. In fact, it had, in some cases, where the pupil concerned was either of a rebellious or strongly independent nature, quite the reverse effect, as toes were, metaphorically speaking, firmly dug in.
Into this category Ivor fell; he took very personally and very much to heart the barbed remarks directed at him during the rather tedious classes in Speech Training, and in the end, it was obvious to everyone that he was adopting an attitude verging on passive resistance to H – ‘s instruction. It seemed that Ivor’s was the proverbial duck’s back off which the pure water of H – ‘s tuition flowed unheeded.
Ivor seized me, in mock anger, by the lapels of my blazer.
“C’mon, c’mon!” he exclaimed in his best Humphrey Bogart accents, “Come clean, y’rat!”
“Well,” I said, rather tired of the subject by now, “if you must know, I think he said something like ‘fairly good’. I didn’t get myself told off by my parents, anyhow, so it can’t have been too bad. But why, anyhow? What’s all the fuss about?”
Ivor’s eyes narrowed and he looked around him before, dropping his voice, he said to John and me, “Do you know what the rotter put on mine?”
“No,” I said, somewhat obviously.
“Well, on mine, he said, ‘Seems incapable of sustained effort’, the so-and-so. My Dad played merry hell about it, threatened to
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stop my pocket-money and goodness knows what.”
“I say, it is a bit thick, though, isn’t it, H – saying a rotten thing like that? I mean to say – “
I left the sentence unfinished; I felt that H – ‘s remark was a bit much. Surely he could have simply said ‘fairly good’ or ‘could do better’? They were the customary form of words. But this, well, it was rather damning. Both John and I made sympathetic noises, then John passed around his wine gums. I let Ivor have the black one and we chewed them in thoughtful silence, each of us meditating on the rat-ishness of H - . The next time I caught the ball I passed it hard to Ivor and he gave vent to his feelings with a tremendous punt which almost cleared the fence by the Art School.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
At that age, memories are short, and mine was no exception. I cannot speak for Ivor, of course; I suppose that somewhere inside that stubborn, defiant head of his a resentment still burned, and as far as H – was concerned, while it would be quite unfair to say that he had it in for Ivor, it was apparent that he singled him out with some slight relish as the object of any cutting remarks he felt inclined to make concerning our defective pronunciation. But it was something which, to be honest about it, did not loom very large in my life. Perhaps twice a week, during the Speech Training lessons I would look covertly, with mingled anticipation and apprehension, at the scornfully sarcastic H – and at a reddening Ivor, his lower lip jutting stubbornly, as the temperature of the atmosphere rose between them. But my Autumn term was dominated by the fact that I was picked to play for the Junior House fifteen.
I knew, of course, that Ivor’s eldest brother was in the Royal Air Force; from time to time he mentioned him, proudly, and looking back, I realise that I never knew his first name, he was to Ivor, simply ‘my brother’. Somehow, it lent them both a great deal of dignity, I think. Ivor would also tell us the latest Station his brother was on, their romantic-sounding names supplying, as it were, a coloured backdrop to the anonymity of ‘my brother’ in his coarse, high-necked airman’s tunic and peaked cap pulled down on his brow,
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as I saw him in my imagination, marching in a squad of men – I did not yet know they were called ‘flights’ – across a vast parade ground.
“He’s on a course at St. Athan, just now,” Ivor would tell us, or, “My brother’s been posted to Drem,” or again, “He’s at Scampton.”
What his brother did, exactly, we never knew, nor thought to ask, it was sufficient that he inhabited and was part of a picturesque, far-off and dashing world, greatly removed in every way from our monotonous and rather dreary provincial town.
One day, Ivor came up to John and me and said, proudly, “My brother’s been posted overseas, he’s gone to Aden.”
John said, mischievously, “Will he be wearing a fez?” and had to dodge the powerful left swing which Ivor pretended to aim with serious intent at him. On the strength of that news, John and I took to calling Ivor “Ali”, but we could tell he didn’t much like it, and as he was still the target of H – ‘s jibes we thought he had sufficient to contend with, so we eventually dropped it.
It was during the Christmas holidays when I was, for want of something better to do, in our sitting room playing the piano rather loudly and very inaccurately, that my mother put her head around the door.
“You’re not concentrating,” she said, “I can tell, you know. But there’s someone here for you, do you want me to bring him in?”
“Who is it?” I asked, glad of the interruption.
“I think he said his name was Bradley,” she replied.
“Oh, it must be Ivor, then,” I said, feeling much less bored and getting up from the piano. I went to the front door. Ivor was standing there with an expression of elaborate unconcern on his face.
“Hello, Yoicks,” he greeted me.
“Hiya,” I said, “what are you doing here?”
I thought perhaps he might want to borrow a book, or something.
“I was just going for a walk along the cliffs – want to come?”
This surprised me slightly as he wasn’t by any means a regular friend of mine away from school; there were a group of five or six of us who lived near to one another and who tended to congregate
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on our bikes in our immediate neighbourhood; Ivor lived all of three-quarters of a mile away in quite another part of the town, separated from our district by a railway line.
“Sure,” I said, glad of the distraction, “just hang on, I’ll shove my coat on.”
As I was doing so, “Mother!” I called, “I’m just going along the cliffs with Ivor.”
“Mind you don’t get cold,” she said, “Have you got your coat on?”
I rolled my eyes at Ivor, who grinned understandingly.
“Yes, Mam,” I said, in a long-suffering voice, and shut the door quickly behind me. We strode away.
When we arrived at the cliff-tops, the cold easterly wind was smashing the rollers against the rocks below and tugged at our overcoats as we walked. Until then we had talked of the usual things, what we had had for Christmas presents, the “flicks”, as Ivor always called them – a word learned from his brother, perhaps? – and how we had been passing the time during the holidays.
“My brother’s in Aden,” Ivor said, “did I tell you?”
I said yes, he had told us, how was he getting along?
“Great,” he said, “but it’s bloody hot out there. They’re all wondering what this bloke Mussolini’s going to do, he keeps talking about – what’s its name? – Abyssinia, or some place?”
I wasn’t greatly interested in the comical figure of the Italian dictator, comical, that is, as he appeared to us, or as he was portrayed to us. So I merely grunted something non-committal.
Ivor said abruptly, “I’m leaving. I thought I’d tell you.”
“You’re what?” I shouted above the noise of the sea, “You’re leaving? Leaving school? But you can’t!”
“Oh, yes I can, though,” he replied with a grin of triumph, “my Dad’s been to the Town Hall to check up.”
“But what are you going to do?” I asked, now all agog. He used an expression I heard then for the first time, on that cold and windswept cliff path, one which, when I hear it, inevitably brings to mind Ivor, his freckled face pink with the cold, as he proudly said, “I’m going to join the Raf.”
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The penny didn’t drop. It must have been the cold.
“The what?” I said, “What’s the Raf?”
He punched my shoulder playfully. Fortunately he was nearer the cliff-edge than I.
“C’mon, yer mug, it’s the R.A.F., of course. What else did you think?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I replied, recovering my balance. “When’re you going, then?”
“Soon as I can. End of next term, prob’ly. I’m going to be a Boy Apprentice at Halton!”
He squared his broad shoulders. A vision of Oliver Twist with his empty porridge bowl held out in front of him floated into my head. ‘Boy Apprentice’ sounded rather like someone who was being exploited, ill-treated. I am sure I was wrong, but the picture remained. But I grinned and said, “You might get out to Aden with your brother.”
“Hope so,” he said wistfully, “but he’ll prob’ly be posted again before that. Anyhow, that’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving as soon as I can. No more speech training for me!”
We laughed. Two gulls wheeled noisily overhead, their screaming cut across the noise of the sea and of the wind. Ivor aimed his fingers, pointed like a pistol, at them and clicked his tongue very loudly, twice. He was good at that.
“Gotcher!” he exclaimed.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Spring term came and went. Ivor, as they would put it nowadays, kept a low profile as far as H – was concerned, and worked assiduously at every subject, even Speech Training. At the end of term he quietly left us. I don’t even remember saying ‘cheerio’ to him. We were young, you see, and quite without sentiment. Then it was summer, and the nets went up again. To my surprise I was elected Junior House cricket captain and became rather insufferably swollen-headed about it. It was on a Saturday afternoon that summer when I saw him again. I was sitting at home, reading, when a shadow passed the window, there was the sound of heavy footsteps and someone knocked at the door. I heard the door-knocker flap loosely as my mother answered it, then the sound of conversation.
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“It’s your friend,” mother said, “the one in the Air Force.”
I hurried to the door. Ivor stood there, smiling broadly, resplendent in his uniform, heavy boots shining brilliantly, his cap carrying the chequered band of the Halton Cadet.
“Hiya, Ivor!” I said. (I almost called him ‘Ali’ and only just corrected myself in time.)
“Hiya, Yoicks! How about comin’ for a walk? I’m on a forty-eight.”
I had no idea what that was but I went to tell my mother where I was going.
“Isn’t he smart?” she smiled quietly, “he looks well in his uniform.”
We set off for the cliffs, in the sunshine. I noticed he did not lope along now, he marched. He seemed taller than I remembered him, bronzed and deep-chested, harder. We exchanged news. In one way he seemed to be very grown-up but in another, he was still my form-mate, furrowing his brow at some problem of Algebra.
“What’s a forty-eight, by the way?” I asked.
“Just a forty-eight hour pass.”
“You haven’t got much time at home, then, have you? All that way from Halton and you’ll have to be back again inside two days?”
“Sure,” he said, airily and confidently, “it’s a piece of cake.”
That was another new expression; I stored it for future use.
“Where’s your brother just now? Still in Aden?”
“No, he’s been posted to Shaibah; bet you don’t know where that is.”
I shook my head.
“never heard of it before,” I said.
“Middle East,” Ivor said proudly, “Iraq – getting his knees brown good and proper.”
He started to sing joyfully what I later knew to be the anthem of all overseas R.A.F. men, “Shaibah Blues”. Then he ripped into several verses of “Charlotte the Harlot”, and while, having been very strictly brought up, I didn’t know the meaning of some of the expressions, I gathered from their anatomical connections that it was not the sort of thing one would sing at home. At least not at my home. But I smiled rather sheepishly when he’d finished.
I said, “Do you like it, in the Raf?”
(I hadn’t forgotten.)
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“It’s great,” he said decisively, “bloody great.”
He slapped me hard on the shoulder.
“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken, Yoicks!”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, square-bashing, P.T., lectures – I’m going to be a Flight Mechanic.”
I could see he was as happy as a sandboy, it shone out of him. He was alert, confident, buoyant, a complete contrast to the rebellious and scowling youth who had reluctantly forced himself to stand and, red-faced, chant, “the rain in Spain.”
“that’s fine, then,” I said, “but we don’t half miss you in the scrum.”
He never mentioned H – ‘s name.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Then, of course, the fuse which had been smouldering in Europe for six years finally detonated the bomb, and everything blew up in our faces. Not many of us were at all surprised. Although I and nearly all our little crowd who lived nearby had left school and were settling into our various jobs, as soon as Munich had come along I pushed my studying to one side. I knew there was no point in it now. It was going to be, at the very least, somewhat interrupted. So I, and my friends, played a lot of games, went to a lot of flicks, cycled a lot, and, out of working hours, lived our lives to the full, as far as we could. I started to take a girl out. Her name was Lilian, and she was extremely beautiful.
When the Battle of Britain was on I went into the R.A.F. One of my leaves, much later, coincided with one of Ivor’s, and he called at hour house, out of the blue. This time, as we were men, we shook hands firmly. He looked me up and down.
“I’m bloody well not going to call you ‘sir’,” he said.
“You’d bloody well better not try,, either,” I replied, “or I’ll stick you on a fizzer!”
He swung a playful punch at me, which, knowing Ivor, I was half-expecting. I dodged it and clouted him in the midriff, hard enough to make him wince.
“You rotten sod!” he gasped, “come on, let’s have a walk on the
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cliffs!”
I handed him a Players’, we lit up and strode away. The cliffs were partly wired off as an anti-invasion measure but we managed to get near enough to hear the same waves crashing on to the same rocks, and to smell the salt air as we walked. Until I looked at us, I felt nothing had changed; then I knew it had, really, and that you could never, ever, put the clock back to what had been.
It was about this time that the inevitable, impersonal and cruelly clinical process of the dissection of our little crowd began.
Norman was unfit for military service because of his deplorable eyesight. He was working for one of the Government Departments in London when a German bomb killed him. Peter, who lived in the next house down the street, and whose father had been drowned at sea a couple of years before, went into the R.A.F., became a Navigator, and was killed when his Wellington, from Finningley, crashed one night. I visited his mother on my first leave after it happened.
She was in a state of near-hysteria at mention of his name, and bitter, it must be said, that everything seemed to be going well for me. She did not know, of course, about my crew. I left her staring into the small fire, locked in her private world of abject misery. Then there was Jack, who was also an only son, strangely enough, also a Navigator on Wellingtons, also killed in a night crash.
By the time Alan, whom I had met in London while I was on my Intelligence course, had qualified as a Radar Operator on Beaufighters, the Germans had ceased flying over England at nights and he was transferred to non-operational flying. George also went into the R.A.F.., qualified as a pilot, then, almost immediately, the war ended. He emigrated to the U.S.A., where he had been trained.
Connie and I had a few months together at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, until I was grounded for good. I left him there, bumped into him once more, on leave, then learned of his death. He had crashed his Stirling, towing a glider, over England.
When it was all over, I asked Alan to be my best man. I would have done so anyhow, but in practical terms I had no choice – there was no-one left in our crowd now but he and I.
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So much had happened since I had last seen Ivor that he rarely had entered my thoughts. There was little reason for him to have done so, as he was a Fitter, in a pretty safe ground job in the R.A.F. Like thousands of other friends, we had been separated by the war and we would either bump into each other on some R.A.F. station, or in some outlandish place in the Far East, or eventually, we’d see each other back in the U.K. When he did enter my head occasionally, I thought perhaps he might have met and married a girl from some other part of the country, or, like George, had seen service in foreign parts and emigrated. I visualised him in a fez, thought about John’s remark about his brother, and smiled to myself at the happy recollection. But gradually, Ivor faded out of my mind.
Until I bumped into a chap who owned a shop, and who had been in our form at school. He had lived within a few hundred yards of Ivor. He, also, had served in the wartime R.A.F., as an armourer, and strangely enough, he told me he had been on the nearest Station to Breighton, at the same time as I had met J – there. I don’t know how he managed it, but he was a mine of information as to what happened to the chaps in our form. Ivor’s name did not come up immediately, as, of course, he had left school before we had done so. But in a pause during his cataloguing of old friends and acquaintances I asked him, “Where’s Ivor got himself these days? I haven’t seen him for years.”
P – was solemn, bespectacled and deliberate in manner and speech. He looked earnestly at me through his thick lenses for a moment or two, as though sorting through some mental card-index and trying to decide whether I could be trusted to hear the information which he had in store there.
“Ivor,” he said slowly, “Ivor Bradley. Yes. he went into the Raf, of course – you knew that?”
“yes,” I said, “He was a Boy Entrant, a Halton Brat, as they were known.”
A smile flicked on to and off his face, like the headlights of a car signalling ‘come on’.
“That’s right,” he continued, then paused. “Yes, well he went missing, you know.”
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For a moment I could not think what he meant. Rather obtusely I said, “You mean he left town? Went off somewhere suddenly?”
“No, no, he was aircrew, he went missing on a raid over Germany,” P – said, looking more owlish than ever.
“But – he was a fitter, surely?” I exclaimed, with an awful feeling, which I had hoped never again to experience, beginning to overtake me. Then, as the light dawned, I said, “Did he remuster to aircrew?”
P – nodded.
“Yes, that’s what happened. I saw him just after he volunteered for aircrew – you remember we lived near to one another? – and he said he wanted to do something a bit more active. So he became a Flight Engineer.”
“Good God,” I said softly, I’d no idea at all. I never dreamed that Ivor would go – like that.”
He nodded again, solemnly.
“Well, he did, I’m afraid,” he said.
He shuffled through a few more cards.
“How long were you at Breighton, by the way? I saw your name in the Visitors’ Book in the Church there, on the day after you’d been in.”
“That’s remarkable,” I said, “what a small world, isn’t it?”
I remembered very vividly going into the church with J - , the day after Johnny P – went missing.
P – said, “You must call in again sometime. I’ll shut the shop and we’ll have a cup of tea and a proper chat.”
I said yes, I would do that, and I felt I should really have made more of an effort to do so. But I was a bit of a coward about the rest of his card index, I’m afraid.
It was several more years before I learned what had happened to Ivor. Searching through a volume of aircrew losses I finally found his name. He was lost without trace, with his crew, during a raid in a Pathfinder Lancaster in the summer of 1943.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I poured myself a cup of the green tea and took a sip as I looked out of the window. But it was terribly tepid, so I threw it all away
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and found I wasn’t really thirsty after all. The sun had long since moved off the chequered tea-cosy, and it was starting to get dusk. I shivered suddenly and found I was feeling extremely lonely and extremely depressed. I looked across at the white telephone and wished to hell that someone would ring, anyone at all, even a wrong number would have done, just so that I could have heard a voice. I sat for a while, waiting, but I knew it was a stupid thing to do. Nobody did ring, so I put on my anorak and went out quickly.
I walked around for a bit. I passed a lighted pub which looked very inviting and cheerful with people smiling at one another and chatting while they drank their beer. I wished I could go in and have a few beers, with Connie, like I used to. I stopped and thought about it, but I knew it would be no good, and as M – had said, it wouldn’t solve anything. So I kept on walking and feeling bloody miserable when I thought about Ivor and Connie, and about Jack and Peter and Norman, and all my crew. And about J - . Her especially. Then I had a strong craving for a cigarette, but I knew that would be a stupid thing to do, too.
It started to rain, so finally, I made my way back to the flat. It felt empty and cold, like somewhere someone had once lived, but didn’t any more. If no-one rings before nine o’clock, I told myself, I will ring M - , just so that I can talk to someone, for Christ’s sake. I sat and looked at the telephone again for a bit and thought about it. But nine o’clock came and I didn’t do anything about it in the end, because I knew it wouldn’t be very cheerful or very much fun for her, and as I was tired and cold I swallowed a couple of aspirin and got into bed.
While I was taking them it occurred to me that there was a stack left in the bottle which could be put to very effective use, but then I thought that wasn’t exactly any part of a pressing-on-regardless effort, so I shoved the bottle firmly to one side.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to go off to sleep after all this business, and I was damned right. I kept thinking about Ivor, then I started thinking about the crowed and how much I realised I was missing them. And about J - ; her, most of all. Then I thought,
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“My God, there’s only me left now, and I’m not much damn good to anyone like this, even if there were anyone,” which made things worse. I would have given a great deal if I could have turned the clock back, to have gone back to Breighton, to that lovely summer, to have started all over again, to be meeting J – for the first time, that wonderful morning when I saw her walk into the Ops Room, when she came to attention smartly and saluted and said, “Good morning, sir.” Little did I know, little did we both know what was to happen to us.
But this was getting me nowhere, so in the end I said aloud, “Oh, Christ, I just don’t want to wake up in the morning.” Then I said goodnight to J – ‘s photograph, in our own very special way, like I always had done, to her, once upon a time, when we were together, when we were happy.
And then I put out the light.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Photograph in a book. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] PHOTOGRAPH IN A BOOK [/underlined]
“Frankie, do you remember me?”
(Late 20th century pop song.)
I realise it is very trite to say that the unexpected is always happening. Nevertheless I have to say that something completely unexpected happened recently to me, which produced, out of the blue, a violent cocktail-shaking of emotions which I thought were firmly and peacefully laid to rest.
I flatter myself that usually I am among the first to obtain, or at least to see, newly-published books on the subject of Bomber Command in the second world war, but for one reason or another, this was not the case in relation to a recently-published history of No. 4 Bomber Group.
4 Group included the aerodromes at Linton-on-Ouse, (my initial posting as an Int/Ops Officer), Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, to which I was moved when the Canadians were about to take over the northernmost aerodromes of 4 Group to form their own 6 Group, and Breighton, the satellite of Holme, where I was to meet, fall in love with and become engaged to J - , who, when the war was over became my wife.
I should have, to have been true to form, snapped up the book on its first appearing, but for various reasons, I did not. Instead, I heard reports – all good – of it from D - , an Ex-W.A.A.F., who features on a whole page of it, complete with her charming photograph, and with whom I had been corresponding. And I heard of it from Alan, a friend who was instrumental in having a memorial installed on the village green close to the place where Pilot Officer Cyril Barton, V.C., of 578 Squadron in 4 Group, sacrificed his life in bringing back his crippled and half-crewed Halifax after the disastrous Nuremberg raid. Alan was a schoolboy at the time and was among the first on the scene of Cyril Barton’s crash. He has, most worthily, devoted a considerable amount of his time and energy to ensuring
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that Cyril’s sacrifice will never be forgotten. It was as a result of this that, just before J – died, I met Alan, a very caring man, a man who has become a true friend to me. He was given the book as a birthday present.
He and I live in neighbouring towns. We speak on the telephone quite often; we meet whenever we are able and always find much to talk about, as Alan was also in the Royal Air Force. He was thrilled to receive the book, which, naturally, contains material concerning Cyril Barton. I had been searching bookshops for it, but without success; I had been waiting for the local Library to obtain it for me.
Early one evening there was a ring at my doorbell. Alan was standing there, cheerful as ever, a welcome sight indeed. He was carrying something flat in a Sainsbury’s carrier bag. With typical generosity he said that as he and his wife were shortly going on holiday, I might as well have the benefit of the book while he was away. I was grateful to him, and leafed through it while we chatted for a while before he had to leave to go to work. He showed me a picture in the book of Cyril’s wrecked aircraft and of Alan himself, as a schoolboy, standing near to it, very soon after the crash occurred.
When Alan had gone, impressed by the high quality of the book and by the photographs in particular, many of them amateur pictures taken by wartime aircrew members, I leafed through its pages, then worked through them systematically.
There were many poignant, familiar scenes. Of aircraft and their crews, of aerodromes and their buildings, targets in Germany and the occupied countries, pictures of people I had known of by reputation, people I had known personally, many I had never known. I found myself wondering how many of those young faces smiling at me from the pages were now, like myself, turning these same pages thinking, as I was thinking, “Oh, yes, I remember a scene like that”, or how many if them were no longer able to do this. A lump was gathering in my throat as I turned to a particular page and saw, among a group of captions, one which read ‘Interrogation for 78 Squadron crews as others await their turn, following the raid
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on Berlin on 31st August/1st September 1943.’
Reading it, I thought, “Well – I was an Intelligence Officer to 78n Squadron at that time.” Then I looked at the photograph and saw myself pictured there, in the far corner of the room, writing down the replies to my questions to the crew – heaven only knows who they were – at my table.
“My God,” I exclaimed.
I could not help it and I am not ashamed to admit that my eyes flooded with tears. I had no idea that the photograph had been taken; the author’s credit was to Gerry C - , who was a pilot on the Squadron at that time, whom I knew, and with whom I am still in contact.
I felt as though I had been wrenched back in time to that night, almost fifty years ago, as though the intervening years had never been, as though I were still at Breighton, working those long and irregular hours in the windowless Operations Room alongside Derek and Pam, with one or other of the W.A.A.F. Watchkeepers – Freda, or the attractive and much sought after Billie, or with J - . I felt, strangely, that all I needed to do was to walk out of the door of this cottage and I would find myself, miraculously, back on the narrow concrete road leading from that house in the hamlet of Breighton with its tall gable-end, along past the W.A.A.F. site to the Nissen huts of the Intelligence Library, the Window Store and the Ops. Room, where the armed sentry would be on duty, where the cornfield would be stretching away to my left, up towards the perimeter track and the runways of the aerodrome. I would return the sentry’s salute and his greeting and I would open the heavy door of the Ops. Room to see, on my left, the huge blackboard with the captains’ names and their aircraft letters already entered for the night’s operation. At the top, the target for tonight, perhaps Duisburg or Mannheim or Essen – or Berlin. The route written underneath that – Base – Southwold – Point A, with Lat. and Long. positions for the route-marking flares to guide the bomber stream to the target. The time of briefing, of the operational meals, of transport out to the aircraft, of starting engines, and of take-off. Of ‘H-Hour’, the time on target. On the wall facing me I would see the huge map of the British Isles, the S.D. 300, blotched in red with gun-defended areas, stuck with broad-headed pins and coloured threads carrying information
[page break]
about navigational hazards.
In the middle of the room the big map table where, after the raid, we spread the mosaic photograph of the German town which had been the target and would plot the crews’ bombing photos. And, to the right, the place where I shall sit, near to the telephones and next to J – who is there behind her switchboard and Tannoy microphone, ready for the night’s operation. If she had been born a man she would, I know, have been a member of a bomber crew, for she thought and talked of little else but bombing operations.
Except on stand-down evenings, in the twilight, when we met secretly in the village at a quiet angle of buildings on the main road, near to the bus stop, then cycled to the ‘Plough’ at Spaldington, the nearest village to the bombing range, where, amazingly, there were no other uniforms to be seen in its homely bar. Where we would spend the long, warm evenings over two or three beers, sitting in the high-backed, high-sided wooden seats made for two, made for people like we were then, people who were young and who had met and who loved each other deeply and desperately. And sitting there, talking gently together, we would hear, above the murmur of the farm workers’ talk, the drone of some aircraft, perhaps on a night cross-country flight, perhaps heading for the other side on a raid. Then we would both sit silently, listening, not saying anything, but I know we were both praying for its safe return to base.
Sometimes, when our own aircraft had gone on a raid and we were not due on duty until they returned, we would steal a precious hour together, sitting with our arms around one another in the darkness, on a low grassy bank under some trees, not far from the unmanned railway level crossing at Gunby, the Sandra lights from the aerodrome shining distantly through the trees, heavy with their summer foliage. For some reason, whenever I hear Delius’ ‘The Walk to the Paradise Garden’ I invariably and inevitable think of J – and I at that place and those wonderful, warm summer nights we shared in the countryside of East Yorkshire, around Breighton.
The tears which came to my eyes when I saw my photograph, and the sadness which overwhelmed me, were because now, that Interrogation Room, whose walls, had they been possessed of ears, would have heard
[page break]
small, unemotionally told tales, couched in the understated phrases of flying men, of achievement, of failure, of heroism, of desperation, triumph and tragedy, that Interrogation Room is now an unoccupied ruin, and the Ops. Room is no more, now part of an isolated dwelling house. I know, for I have been back there, where among so much tragedy, I was so happy.
And J - , now, is no more, except in my memory. I sat with her, taking her cold and unfeeling hand in mine, one beautiful summer morning, such as we used to have at Breighton, and I watched her life slip away from the loveliness that had been her. But we shall meet again, I know, she and I, and all the many crew members who came into our lives and went again, and were forgotten by us, like the many dawns and the many sunsets which we shared.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
[underlined] GLOSSARY [/underlined]
Abort – to abandon an operation and return to base.
A.C.P. – Aerodrome Control Pilot, a ‘traffic policeman’ for those aircraft within visual distance.
A.G. – Air Gunner.
Alldis lamp – high-powered lamp capable of flashing Morse letters.
A.P. – Air Publication, usually a book; Aiming Point.
A.S.I. – Airspeed indicator.
Astrodome – transparent blister half way back along the fuselage of the Wellington.
A.S.V. – Anti-surface vessel.
A.T.A. – Air Transport Auxiliary, civilian aircraft delivery service.
Base – parent Station of one or more satellite aerodromes. Three, four, or even five Bases and their satellites constituted a Group.
base – one’s home aerodrome.
Best blue – best uniform.
Bind – (noun) nuisance, annoyance. (verb) to complain, tiresomely.
Bomb plot – plan of the target area annotated with the positions of each of the Squadron aircraft’s bombing photos.
Bombing Leader – senior Bomb-Aimer on a Squadron, responsible for instruction and training of other Bomb-Aimers.
Bombing photo – vertical photo taken automatically on release of an aircraft’s bombs, thus showing the point of impact.
Boost – petrol/air mixture pressure at the engine inlet manifold.
Buck House – Buckingham Palace.
Bullseye – bomber exercise in conjunction with friendly searchlights.
Circuits and bumps – take offs, circuits and landing, the staple diet of training pilots.
C.O. – Commanding Officer.
Cookie – 4000 pound High Capacity blast bomb, nicknamed by the press and B.B.C. ‘blockbuster’.
DC3 – Douglas Dakota twin-engined transport aircraft. Also known as a C-47.
Defiant – Boulton Paul single-engined fighter/night fighter. Two-seater, the rear seat being in a rotatable 4-gun turret.
[page break]
D.R. – Dispatch rider.
Drem lighting – aerodrome runway and perimeter track lighting, protected by metal dish-shaped hoods so as to be invisible from above. First used at R.A.F. Drem, Scotland.
Early return – (later knows as ‘boomerang’) aircraft returning from an abortive sortie.
E.F.T.S. – Elementary Flying Training School.
Erk – Aircraftman.
E.T.A. – Estimated time of arrival.
Feathering – device which enabled the pilot to turn the blades of a propeller edge-on to the direction of flight, thus minimising the drag on the aircraft in the event of an engine failure.
Flak – German anti-aircraft fire.
Flights – Flight Offices and crewroom.
Flying the beam – flying from A to B by means of an aural signal transmitted by B.
Fresher – a new crew; such a crew’s early operational flights; the target for such a crew.
Fizzer, stick (or put) on a – charge with an offence.
Gee – radar navigational aid which enabled an aircraft to fix its position. Had a limited range which just covered the Ruhr and was susceptible to jamming.
Gen – information, news, divided into ‘pukka’ (true) and ‘duff’ (false). (Meteorological Officers were invariably known as Duff Gen Men.)
Geodetics – aluminium girders formed into spiral basket-work construction which made up the fuselage and mainplanes of the Wellington.
Get weaving – get going, get started.
Glim lamps/lights – low-powered lights which formed the flarepath of an aerodrome.
Glycol – Ethylene glycol, liquid coolant.
Gong – medal.
Goose-necks – paraffin flares housed in watering-can-shaped containers. Supplemented Drem lighting.
G.Y. – Grimsby.
Gyro – gyroscopic compass.
[page break]
1 Group – Bomber Group in north Lincolnshire consisting of, originally, 4 R.A.F., 3 Polish and 2 Australian Wellington Squadrons, latterly, of Lancaster Squadrons.
3 Group – Bomber Group in East Anglia consisting of, originally, Wellington Squadrons. Converted to Stirlings, latterly to Lancasters.
Halifax – Four-engined Handley Page bombers with crew of seven. Nicknamed Hali or Halibag.
Hampden – Twin-engined Handley Page medium bombers, crew of three.
Harvard – single-engined North American Aviation Co. advanced fighter trainers. Also know as Texan or AT – 6.
“Have a good trip” – Between close friends on a Squadron this parting remark was occasionally varied by the addition of “Can I have your egg if you don’t come back?” This was part of the grim humour current among bomber aircrew.
H.E. – High explosive.
High – anticyclone, high-pressure weather system.
H2S – Radar device which showed a ground plan of the earth below an aircraft.
Ident. light – identification light, a small nose-light used for flashing Morse.
I.F.F. – Identification friend or foe. Radar set carried on an aircraft to identify it as friendly to British ground defences. Set to ‘Stud 3’ it gave a specially-shaped distress trace on ground radar screens.
Int. – Intelligence.
Intercom – internal ‘telephone system’ in an aircraft.
Interrogation – now known, in view of the current overtones of ill-treatment which have become implicit in the term, as ‘de-briefing’.
I.T.W. – Initial Training Wing.
Juice – petrol
Kite – aircraft.
[page break]
L.A.C. – Leading Aircraftman.
L.A.C.W. – Leading Aircraftwoman.
Line-shoot – boast.
Link Trainer – a simulator which gave practice in instrument flying.
Lysander – Single-engined Westland Aviation Army co-operation (originally) aircraft.
Mag drop – the reduction in r.p.m. of an engine when one of its two magnetos was switched out.
Mae West – Inflatable life-jacket which gave to its wearer the contours of the famous film actress.
Mosaic – collage of aerial photographs, taken probably at different times, but from the same height, making up a complete picture of a German town, and used to plot bombing photos.
Nav. – navigator, navigation.
N.F.T. – night-flying test.
Nickels – British propaganda leaflets dropped over enemy territory. To drop the leaflets was known as nickelling.
Observer – Navigator/Bomb-aimer in twin-engined bombers prior to the establishment of these as separate categories.
Occult – white flashing beacon showing one Morse letter whose latitude and longitude was carried by Observers or Navigators (in code).
On the boat – posted overseas, or, when overseas, posted to the U.K.
One o’clock – slightly to the right of dead ahead (twelve o’clock). Dead astern was six o’clock.
Ops – operations.
O.T.U. – Operational Training Unit.
Oxford – twin-engined advanced bomber-trainer, made by Airspeed Ltd.
Peri. track – perimeter track, a taxying track connecting the ends of the runways on an aerodrome, and having aircraft dispersal points leading off it.
Pigeon – homing pigeon carried in bomber aircraft to carry a message back to base giving the aircraft’s position in the event of ‘ditching’ (landing in the sea), when the aircraft would be too low for its radio transmissions to be heard.
[page break]
Pit – bed.
Pitch controls – varied the angle of the propeller blades and consequently controlled the r.p.m. of the engine.
Pitot head – (pronounced pea-toe) fine-bore tube facing forward which supplied air pressure from the movement of the aircraft through the air and showed this pressure as airspeed on a ‘clock’ in the cockpit.
P/O – Pilot Officer (not necessarily a pilot!)
Poop off – shoot off.
P/O Prune – a cartoon character in Tee Emm (q.v.), an inept pilot forever involved in accidents of his own making.
Portreath – R.A.F. Station in Cornwall
Prang – crash, wreck, break.
Press the tit – press the button.
Prop – propeller, more properly, airscrew.
P.R.U. – Photographic Reconnaissance Unit.
Pundit – aerodrome beacon, flashing two red Morse letters which were changed at irregular intervals. The beacons were always within two miles of the parent aerodrome, although their position was changed nightly.
R.A.A.F. – Royal Australian Air Force.
R.C.A.F. – Royal Canadian Air Force.
Resin lights – low-powered lights at the rear of an aircraft’s wingtips, illuminated over this country as a warning to friendly night-fighters. Colours were changed at irregular intervals.
Revs – revolutions.
Rolling the bones – gambling with dice.
R/T – radio telephone (speech).
Sandra lights – cone of three searchlights stationary over an aerodrome, to assist returning aircraft.
Scrub – cancel.
Second dickey – second pilot.
S.D. – secret document.
S.D.300 – wall-map of the U.K., kept in the Ops Room and maintained by the Watchkeepers, showing positions of all gun-defended areas, navigational hazards and convoys.
[page break]
S.F.T.S. – Service Flying Training School. (Stage following E.F.T.S.)
Spit – Spitfire.
Spoof. – feint.
Sprog – newly arrived, newly joined, raw, inexperienced.
Square-bashing – drill.
Stall – lose flying speed.
Stirling – four-engined bomber manufactured by Short Bros.
Stooge – boring, casual or haphazard flying.
Stud 3 – Distress frequency setting on I.F.F. (q.v.)
Sullom Voe – R.A.F. Station in the Shetlands.
Sweet Caps – Sweet Caporal cigarettes, a popular Canadian brand.
Tee Emm – Air Ministry Training Magazine. Humorously written and comically illustrated aid to safe flying and good navigation and gunnery. It was extremely popular with all aircrew.
Trailing edge – rear edge of mainplane or elevators.
Trimmers – (or ‘trimming tabs’). Small adjustable sections of the aircraft’s control surfaces, enabling it to be flown, when they were carefully adjusted, without undue pressure on the controls by the hands and feet.
Undercart – undercarriage.
u/s – unserviceable.
u/t – under training.
Vic – V.
W.A.A.F. – Women’s Auxiliary Air Force; a member of same.
W.A.A.F. (G) – Officer responsible for the discipline and well-being of all W.A.A.F. on a Station.
Watchkeeper – W.A.A.F. Sergeant who acted as a clearing house for all telephoned outgoing and incoming secret operational and other information, and who was responsible for its prompt and correct transmission to the appropriate person(s).
Wellington – twin-engined Vickers bomber with a crew of six.
Wimpy – Nickname for the above. Derived from the character in a ‘Daily Mirror’ cartoon – J. Wellington Wimpy, a friend of Popeye.
[page break]
Wingco – Wing Commander. (C.O. of a bomber Squadron).
W/T – wireless telegraphy (Morse code).
Y.M. – Y.M.C.A.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Loose on the wind
Description
An account of the resource
Starts with a poem and then a series of stories which together form the memoirs of Harold Yeoman, an officer who served in Bomber Command during the war, initially as a pilot on Wellingtons and then as an Intelligence Officer. He relates his activities both professionally and personally during this time and recounts the many friends and colleagues he lost whilst on operations. He recalls his flying training on the Tiger Moths at Sywell, then on to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada for further training. He was then posted to Bassingbourne O.T.U. to train to fly Wellingtons, before going to Binbrook on operational flying duties. Harold flew a number of operations before being grounded due to medical reasons. It was whilst he was grounded that his crew were reported as missing and subsequently recorded as killed in action. While waiting for his Medical Board, Harold was stationed at the Operational Training Unit at Moreton-in-the-Marsh ferrying brand new Wellingtons from Kemble and flying them to Moreton to hand over to pupil crews. He was then moved to ‘X’ Flight of the O.T.U and trained new pilots before being grounded again for medical reasons when he transferred into Intelligence for Bomber Command. He completed his R.A.F. career in Penang as an Adjutant.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
H Yeoman
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1994-11
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Multipage printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Poetry
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Northamptonshire
England--Northampton
England--Devon
England--Torquay
England--Cheshire
England--Wilmslow
Iceland
Iceland--Reykjavík
Canada
Nova Scotia--Halifax
Nova Scotia--Cape Breton Island
Saskatchewan--Moose Jaw
England--Suffolk
Germany
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Netherlands
Netherlands--IJssel Lake
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Essen
England--Lincolnshire
England--Grimsby
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Germany--Cologne
England--Berkshire
England--Reading
Netherlands
Netherlands--IJmuiden
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Sylt
Germany
Germany--Helgoland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Lübeck
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Bochum
England--Gloucestershire
England--Yorkshire
Burma
Burma--Rangoon
Malaysia
Malaysia--Kampong Sungai Gelugor (Pinang)
Malaysia--George Town (Pulau Pinang)
Malaysia--Butterworth (Pulau Pinang)
England--Buckinghamshire
Wales--Vale of Glamorgan
Germany--Nuremberg
Saskatchewan
Nova Scotia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-09
1942-05
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
1 Group
12 Squadron
4 Group
578 Squadron
78 Squadron
air gunner
Air Transport Auxiliary
aircrew
animal
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
arts and crafts
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
control tower
crash
crewing up
Defiant
faith
fear
final resting place
flight engineer
flight mechanic
forced landing
Fw 190
Gee
Gneisenau
grief
ground crew
ground personnel
Guinea Pig Club
H2S
Halifax
Hampden
Harvard
In the event of my death letter
Ju 88
killed in action
Lancaster
love and romance
Lysander
Manchester
McIndoe, Archibald (1900-1960)
medical officer
mess
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
navigator
observer
operations room
Oxford
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Bawtry
RAF Binbrook
RAF Breighton
RAF Finningley
RAF Halton
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Kemble
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Little Rissington
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF St Athan
RAF Sywell
RAF Torquay
RAF Tuddenham
Scharnhorst
searchlight
shot down
Spitfire
sport
Stalag Luft 3
Stirling
Tiger Moth
training
Victoria Cross
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
wireless operator / air gunner
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30991/LYeomanHT104405v1.1.pdf
49462f7932270d4426f2cd7505956829
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Yeoman, Harold
Harold Yeoman
Harold T Yeoman
H T Yeoman
Description
An account of the resource
31 items. Collection concerns Harold Yeoman (b. 1921 1059846 and 104405 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a pilot with 12 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, a memoir, pilot's flying log book, 26 poems, a photograph and details of trail of Malayan collaborator.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Christopher E. Potts and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-28
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Yeoman, HT
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Harold Yeoman’s pilot’s flying log book
Description
An account of the resource
Pilot’s flying log book for Harold Yeoman covering the period from 18 November 1940 to 7 November 1942. Detailing his flying training and operations flown. He was stationed at RAF Sywell (6 EFTS), RCAF Moose Jaw (32 SFTS), RAF Bassingbourn (11 OTU), RAF Binbrook (12 Squadron), RAF Moreton-in-the-Marsh (1446 Flight). Aircraft flown in were Tiger Moth, Harvard, Wellington, Anson, Defiant and Lysander. He flew a total of 14 night-time operations with 12 Squadron, targets were Cherbourg, Calais, Le Havre, Paris, Essen, Kiel, Lubeck, Cologne, but was then limited medically to non-operational flying on a ferry training unit. Medical Board 7 January 1943, Category A48 no further flying. His pilots on operations were Sergeant Potts, and Pilot Officer Cook.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LYeomanHT104405v1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
France
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Gloucestershire
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
France--Calais
France--Cherbourg
France--Le Havre
France--Paris
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Essen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Lübeck
Saskatchewan--Moose Jaw
Saskatchewan
Germany
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1942
1941-11-25
1941-11-26
1941-12-07
1941-12-08
1941-12-16
1941-12-17
1942-01-18
1942-01-28
1942-01-29
1942-01-31
1942-02-01
1942-02-25
1942-02-26
1942-02-27
1942-02-28
1942-03-03
1942-03-04
1942-03-09
1942-03-10
1942-03-12
1942-03-13
1942-03-25
1942-03-26
1942-03-27
1942-03-28
1942-03-29
1942-04-05
1942-04-06
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
11 OTU
12 Squadron
21 OTU
aircrew
Anson
Defiant
Flying Training School
Harvard
Initial Training Wing
Lysander
Operational Training Unit
pilot
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Binbrook
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Sywell
RAF Torquay
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/704/31011/LBeethamMJ19230517v3.2.pdf
82042e4560dfc6e95d45c3daf04a4e67
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Beetham, Michael
Sir Michael Beetham
M Beetham
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. The collection concerns Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Michael Beetham GCB, CBE, DFC, AFC, DL (1923 - 2015) and contains his five flying log books. He flew a tour of operations as a pilot with 50 Squadron. After the war he flew on the goodwill tour of the United States with 35 Squadron. He remained in the RAF and rose in rank until his retirement in the 1980s.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Sir Michael Beetham and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-09
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Beetham, MJ
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Michael Beetham pilot's flying log book. Three
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LBeethamMJ19230517v3
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Description
An account of the resource
Detailing his flying training and operations flown as pilot. He was stationed at RAF Bassingbourn (231 OCU), RAF Andover (RAF Staff College), RAF Pershore (10 AFTS), RAF Manby (RAF Flying College), RAF Gaydon (232 OCU) and RAF Marham (214 Squadron).
Aircraft flown in were Proctor, Canberra, Meteor T7, Oxford, Anson, Valiant, Lincoln, Devon, Victor, Vulcan, Super G Constellation, Varsity, Hastings, Meteor F8, Whirlwind and Superfortress KB-50J;
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Hampshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Norfolk
England--Warwickshire
England--Worcestershire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Terry Hancock
214 Squadron
Anson
Flying Training School
Lincoln
Meteor
Oxford
Proctor
RAF Andover
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Gaydon
RAF Manby
RAF Marham
RAF Pershore
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1996/31955/EHoganPJHoganM450911-0001.1.jpg
672832f23323c0147a1b9af9b022c2f8
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1996/31955/EHoganPJHoganM450911-0002.1.jpg
47fbea583fd4f78721b2f93886bdb82a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Hogan, P J
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-12-05
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Hogan, PJ
Description
An account of the resource
Ninety-six items and a sub-collection with twenty two items..
The collection concerns Flight Sergeant Pat Hogan (436464 Royal Australian Air Force) and contains letters home to his family, his flying log book, accounts of his aircraft being shot down and him baling out, official documents, certificates and photographs.
He flew operations as a navigator with 466 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Elizabeth Anne Lusby and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Aus 364 464
P/O Hogan PJ
RAAF
Aus PO
London WC2
11/9/45
Dear Marie,
I think I’ve a couple of letters of yours since last I wrote. Incidentally I am now stationed in Herts about 3 miles from the village of Royston, which is about 2/3 the size of Driffield. We are only 2 hours from London on the train. So far I’m not too impressed , as the Yanks left this place in rather a mess, & the tucker & …. …also poor compared to Driff. However our Aussie Group Commander arrived today & no doubt he’ll again throw his weight about(…. …. …. …. ) to see that things are brought up to scratch for us. …. …. …. Scottie. Junior officers at the moment are definitely kicking …. …. …. Another squadron arrived here the other day & we did …. …. …. Our crew has a little pre war …. …. …. Quarters…. ….have housemaids hence (or knees) getting …. …. In. We have no batwomen yet.
Before leaving Yorkshire last weekend I was lucky enough to see the Aussie cricketers in action against a fairly strong English team at Scarborough. Our lads hit up 500 in a day. Pepper got 168 but Miller failed miserably only getting 71 in the 30 mins he was at the wicket. The Pongoes were out for 250 odd & 140 the only one to get … was Fishlock with 95 &35. Hutton made 42 & 0. Ellis had them completely tied up getting 10 wickets in all. Pepper and Pettiford also bowled well. You had better send me Flegg & Sons address again. I’ve often thought of them in London, but their telephone address is down in Surrey somewhere.
The only eatables we need here now I think is tinned butter for toast making in the winter. I have a little electric stove. I hardly see myself home for Christmas. Don’t worry about it if they are unproanable ? unprobable, but other blokes get films just in parcels in ordinary cake tins without any special wrapping at all. The address of the Colletts is - 17 Prospect Terrace, Allerton, Bradford, Yorks.
I didn’t know Leo Francis had made the grade at North. Glad to hear of the release of Pat Cross, Alec Breen etc.
We are now on Liberators & I hope to be on the India run within a month or so. We may … get as far as Singapore to collect …. …. …. ….
Re Dad’s queries …. …. …. …. …. Life forbids the …. …. …. ….enough to do …. …. ….It’s pretty grim …. …. ….down eventually. …. …. ….is impossible at present. Is Dan talking of going home yet? Bert Evatt is over now & is really brilliant I think. What a gig he makes Chifley look. Ford also looks a fool beside him. At least Evatt seems to be the only one with any clues at all on the Japs. He released Justice Weller’s list of atrocities yesterday to the papers & it rather rocked them.
Hope you are all well.
Love to all
Pat
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Letter from Pat Hogan to Miss Marie Hogan
Description
An account of the resource
Reports arrival of her previous letters and says he is now stationed in Hertfordshire a few miles from Royston. States that the Americans had left the place in a mess. Writes about Australian cricket side's scores and performance. Gives address of friend in Bradford. Catches up with news and gossip. Part of this letter is damaged and unreadable.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
P J Hogan
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945-09-11
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Four sided handwritten airmail letter
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Correspondence
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
EHoganPJHoganM450911
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--London
England--Hertfordshire
England--Royston (Hertfordshire)
Australia
Victoria--Bendigo
Victoria
England--Herefordshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-09-11
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
466 Squadron
RAF Bassingbourn
sport
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2022/31977/SHoganPJ436464v10027.1.jpg
2004872f7aa5ae186fa1274987bb5a50
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Hogan, P J. Document file
Description
An account of the resource
Twenty-two items. Contains photographs and official documents.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-12-05
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Hogan, PJ
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Training, non-operational and operational details
RAAF Form P/P 151
Description
An account of the resource
Lists training details. Aircraft Anson and Battle in Australia. Advanced training in United Kingdom on Anson, Wellington and Halifax at West Freugh, Lichfield and Richall. Operational flying on Halifax 466 Squadron at RAF Driffield and 466 Squadron B-24 at RAF Bassingbourn. Gives hours at each stage.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One page printed document with handwritten entreis
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
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SHoganPJ436464v10025
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Scotland--Dumfries and Galloway
England--Staffordshire
England--Lichfield
England--Yorkshire
England--Selby
England--Cambridgeshire
Australia
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
466 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
B-24
Battle
Halifax
navigator
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Driffield
RAF Lichfield
RAF Riccall
RAF West Freugh
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/623/32342/BPayneTPGunningFVv1.1.pdf
a5c7559446dbdbd1e7d2cbfdab3c125b
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Payne, Thomas Peter
T P Payne
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Payne, TP
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. Two oral history interviews with Flying Officer Peter Payne (b. 1925, 1398674, 199071 Royal Air Force)auto biographies and his log book. He flew as a pilot with 90 and 15 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Payne and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-02-04
2016-07-06
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MALLEVILLE-LES-GRÉS CHURCHYARD
Index No. Fr. 662
Malleville-les-Grés is a village and commune 41 kilometres west of Dieppe and 10 kilometres south-west of St. Valéry-en-Caux. It lies 2 kilometres south of Veulettes, which is a seaside village 9 kilometres west of St. Valéry-en-Caux on the G.C.71ET road running south from Veulettes.
South-west of the church, near the main entrance to the churchyard, are the graves of 3 airmen of the Royal Air Force.
GUNNING, Sgt. (Obs.) FRANK VIVIAN, 580613. R.A.F. 15 Sqdn. 12th June, 1940. Age 19. Son of Frank Victor and Florence Gunning, of Bridport, Dorsetshire.
PÈULEVE, Sgt. (W. Op./Air Gnr.) DAVID HILARY, 614230. R.A.F. 15 Sqdn. 12th June, 1940. Age 21. Son of Auguste Albertand Alice Florence Peulevé, of Castle Bromwich, Warwickshire.
TAKIDELI, Pilot Offr. (Pilot) ALEXANDER, 42368. R.A.F. 15 Sqdn. 12th June, 1940. Age 20. Son of Gregory John and Grace Maud Takideli.
[black and white full length photograph of Sergeant Gunning in his uniform]
[page break]
THE STORY OF FRANK VIVIAN GUNNING – 580613
OBSERVER – R.A.F. 1939 – 1940
FRANK VIVIAN GUNNING, CALLED VIVIAN BECAUSE HIS FATHER WAS ALSO NAMED FRANK, BORN IN BEAMINSTER JULY 13th 1920. THE ONLY CHILD OF FRANK AND FLORRIE GUNNING. EDUCATED AT BRIDPORT GRAMMAR SCHOOL. ON LEAVING SCHOOL HE WORKED IN THE LOCAL ELECTRICITY COMPANY SHOWROOMS AS AN ASSISTANT. BY THE TIME HE ENLISTED FOR SERVICE INTO THE RAFVR, JANUARY 9th 1939 HE HAD GROWN INTO A 6ft TALL, FAIR HAIRED, YOUNG MAN.
Starting at the lowest rank, A.C.2 it was changed to LAC on January 10th being posted to H.Q. Reserve Command then to RTW No 1 Depot Uxbridge where he was kitted out and undertook basic drill training. Followed on April 17th with a move to No. 3 Air Observer School Aldergrove. After nearly 2 months in Northern Ireland, during which time he was promoted to Acting Sergeant and obtained his Observer brevet, Vivian was posted to No. 104 (Bomber) Squadron, based at Bassingbourne, Cambridgeshire. Within a few weeks, on July 10th he was posted to No. 110 (Bomber) Squadron based at WATTISHAM Suffolk.
Having spent the whole of August preparing for the war, which was so inevitably going to happen, Vivian had no illusions about his future. In a letter written on the 4th of September, the day after war was declared, to his closest school friend John Wilkins, (copy of letter attached to this story) he writes “… we have achieved the seemingly impossible and got messed up in a war, it looks like me for Valhalla!” Explaining his reasons for the comment he continued, “I am not trying to elicit sympathy from you, or exaggerating danger, or anything like that. For once I’m perfectly serious. You see, all we bomber crews are quite aware of the fact and are quite resigned to it …” he continued, “ … it’s only a matter of weeks before we all get pipped”. The young airman’s point was made in the conclusion of his letter, when he wrote of the 10 Blenheims which had been despatched for a raid that day “ … I have just seen 3 return” exactly one year and 2 days after he had enlisted into the RAFVR, on 11th January 1940, he was posted again. Mainly due to heavy losses he went to West Raynham on No. 101 Squadron as did several other survivors. During his period with 101 he was made up to full Sergeant on 3rd March 1940.
[page break]
Another move came on 3rd of April, this time to RAF Watton on No. 21 Squadron, still flying on Blenheim Mk IV’s Finally on May 27th 1940 he was posted to XV Squadron based at Wyton. 17 days after his arrival on XV Squadron, on June 12th 1940, he was posted as “Missing – presumed killed”
The Squadron was ordered to slow the German advancing forces that were trying to reach the coast and capture Allied troops trying to escape from French ports. Every German column was supported by Anti-aircraft guns. Our slow moving aeroplanes didn’t stand a chance.
As an only child, the loss of Vivian Gunning was a devastating blow to his parents, particularly his mother who never recovered from the shock.
The official report stated “580613 Sgt F V Gunning – Observer – RAFVR Age 19 was killed on Wednesday 12th June 1940, whilst flying as Observer on Blenheim Bomber R3747, during an attack against enemy columns at Le Bourget. The aircraft, which was shot down, crashed approximately 3 kms from the coast, near the road, on the eastern side of the D.271 road, south of Malleville-les-Gres. The point of impact being approximately 0.7 kms from the village.
All 3 crew members, Pilot – 42368 P/O A Takideli aged 20
Observer – 580613 Sgt. F V Gunning aged 19
Wireless Operator/Gunner – 614230 Sgt. D. H. Peuleve aged 21
Share a grave, side by side, in the village church yard of Malle-les-Gres. It is maintained by local villagers, overseen by The War Graves Commission. They are the only War Graves in this Cemetery, Index Ref: No: Fr 662. (A photograph of the grave is included in this story)
The headstones are engraved as follows:-
P/O A Takideli
“At the going down of then [sic] sun and in the morning we will remember them”
Sgt. F V Gunning
“Death may hide but cannot divide”
Sgt. D H Peuleve
“Requiem Aeternam Doha Els, Domine: Et Lux Perpetua Luceat eis”
Having visited the crash site and the churchyard on several occasions I was struck by the peacefulness of the area. The village is 10 kms south-west of St. Valery-en-caux, (some 41 kms west of Dieppe).
[page break]
It lies 2 kms south of Veulettes, which is a seaside village, 9 kms west of St. Valery-en-caux on the G.C.71ET road running south from Veulettes on the D.271.
During one visit I was fortunate to meet with a lady, who as a school girl saw the wrecked Blenheim, and showed me the field where it crashed. It was just off the D.271 south of the village and to the east of the road. The field is now used for growing peas, the Blenheim had crashed some 100 meters from the road, and in the 1990’s one could still see the spot due to lack of growth of the plants. The lady also advised that the 3 crew were originally buried near to the aircraft, she and friends placed flowers there regularly, eventually the bodies were re-buried in the Churchyard where they were tended by local parishioners. The Blenheim remained there for several months until removed for scrap.
The Book “1939 – 1945 THE WAR DEAD OF THE COMMONWEALTH” lists Minor Cemeteries in Seine Maritime issued by The Commonwealth War Graves Commission, Maidenhead. Extract from Page 24 attached.
This book also has a summary of military action up to Dunkirk and includes the raids on Bruneval, St. Nazaire and Dieppe plus the war in France, all leaving many graves to be cared for, and to be listed in their books for relatives to locate their loved ones.
John Wilkins was a school friend of Vivian, his widow Rosa sent the letter to me in 2001, she told me that John carried the letter with him throughout his wartime service. The original letter is in Bridport Museum Trust files with other information and photographs.
Despite extensive advertising in RAFA and Aircrew Association journals no response about relatives of the Pilot, P/o A Takideli was received. The Ministry advised that in 1940 he had a sister living in London. However the widow of another XV Squadron pilot recalled his name because it was unusual being of Greek origin. A Niece of Sgt. D H Peuleve contacted me, from the Birmingham area, and advised that no other relative was known.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Story of Frank Vivian Gunning
580613 - Observer -RAF 1939-1940
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Vivian, born in Beaminster in 1920. He trained at Aldergrove and served at Bassingbourne, Wattisham, West Raynham, Watton then Wyton. Losses were high. He was shot down near Le Bourget, his two crew members dying with him. <br /><br />Additional information on Frank Gunning is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/211402/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
TP Payne
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Four printed sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BPayneTPGunningFVv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Beaminster
England--Bridport
France--Le Bourget
France--Dieppe
England--Birmingham
France
England--Dorset
England--Middlesex
England--Warwickshire
England--London
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940-06-12
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
101 Squadron
104 Squadron
110 Squadron
15 Squadron
21 Squadron
aircrew
Blenheim
final resting place
killed in action
navigator
observer
pilot
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Wattisham
RAF Watton
RAF West Raynham
RAF Wyton
wireless operator / air gunner